


Shattered Into Ash

by leo5402



Series: Reverse AU: this time it's gay [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor is doing his best, Drugs, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, It ends happy I promise, M/M, Panic Attacks, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, dehumanizing pronouns towards androids, gavin doesn't show up til later, reverse au, they all are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo5402/pseuds/leo5402
Summary: In which lieutenant Connor Anderson gets assigned a HK800 prototype as a partner, and honestly? There are much worse things in the world.





	1. PARTNERS.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic... like ever. I followed the original story pretty closely for the first few chapters but I promise, it will get fun later on. 
> 
> I'll leave general trigger warnings here before the chapter: they may contain spoilers but I'm putting them here anyway. 
> 
> Warnings for typical violence and drugs in this chapter. (Also Connor being a depressed bastard). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Connor snapped his head up, awake after his micro nap against the wall of the breakroom. It was probably the most sleep he had gotten in days. He had spent most of his time here, at the police station, trying to work.

The smell of coffee filled the room, bitter and strong, just how he liked it. He grabbed his fifth cup of coffee that day. It wasn’t even past noon. His hand shook and his vision was blurred, but he had shit to do that he was going to get done one way or another. 

He was avoiding the work at hand, he knew it.  
The stress of harrowing report after report was building up in him and he was about ready to explode. Amanda told him to take a day off, just one day, but here he was, running on coffee and anxiety, just trying to do his job.

It was easier when he wasn’t so alone in the station. Sure, there were people there, working cased as usual, but Connor had no one to work with, no friends to joke with, no family to go home to.

He thought it best that way.

The most recent case involved the murder of a middle-aged man. Shot in the head in his own home, no fingerprints, missing child android model. Lots of red ice. 

Connor shook his head and the images of the dead body away. They were disgusting, always were, but he’d gotten somewhat jaded to it. Best way for a cop to protect his mind. Red ice was a common theme in many high profile crimes, nowadays. Connor’s big break had been leading a team against it in his twenties. Those were the good ol’ days when Connor could do no wrong and had his life laid out in front of him.

He downed the coffee in one big gulp, burning his throat on the way down. It only served to raise his heart rate a little. He still felt dead inside, just a little more jittery.

He was never going to get any work done like this. 

He needed a cigarette. His hands itched to go to his pocket, where he knew he had a pack.

On his way outside, he passed by Nines, his younger brother. He looked crisp and pristine as usual. His suit was perfect, his hair impeccable. He ran his cold eyes over Connor, lip faintly curling at the sight of Connor’s more haggard appearance. They both set out to follow their dad’s path originally, though they had different ways of showing it 

“Good morning, Connor,” he said. His voice sounded anything but welcoming, words as carefully calculated as his look. 

“Yeah, yeah. Mornin’ t’ you too dick.” Connor waved his hand dismissively. 

“You know my name is Nines, Connor.” The response was cool, eyes flitting back to his computer screen.

“No, your name is Richard,” he spat, “But, I call you Nines because you ask so nicely.”

Nines recalled the last time Connor had called him Richard fondly, a smile playing across his lips. He had given him a bloody nose. 

Nines gave Connor no response, so Connor continued his walk outside. He really needed a cigarette.

It was cold, the first winds of winter blowing through town. No snow yet, but it was right around the corner. Dark clouds covered the sky, bathing Detroit in a deep, solemn grey that permeated even the brightest of people.

He rounded the corner and leaned against the cool bricks, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigs. He brought it to his mouth and held it loosely between his lips while he fumbled with his old lighter. It barely lit after so much use. He rolled the flint once, twice, three times with no avail. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself. His hands shook so bad, partly from the cold and the caffeine, but mostly the deep fatigue that had settled into all of his muscles. 

He tried once more but almost dropped his lighter. He craned his head back against the bricks, unlit cigarette still hanging from his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a nasty headache coming.

“Need a light?” A deeper voice said from beside him. He nodded, eyes still shut. 

There was a click, then a bright light that he could see past his eyelids. 

Connor leaned forward and took a deep drag from it. He held the burning smoke in his lungs for a moment, then let it out through his nose. 

After he had his fix, he turned to see the kind stranger with a lighter. 

Connor almost dropped his cigarette. A tall android stood to his side. He was sturdily built, taller than Connor even though he himself was six feet tall. His grey hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, away from the bushy beard that framed his squared jaw. 

He watched Connor with curious grey eyes that were a little bit darker than his hair.

Connor felt something tug at his gut. Damn, he didn’t know they made androids look like silver foxes.

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson,” he started, voice low and rough. “My name is Hank, I'm the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Connor sucked in another puff of smoke and narrowed his eyes at him. “Okay… thanks for the light I guess,” he said and flicked the rest of his cigarette onto the ground. “See ya around.”

He tried to wipe the sight of that android from his mind. He didn’t hate androids, honestly, he just kind of didn’t know how to act around them. So Connor avoided them like he did most of his problems.

Not that they’re a problem, he told himself, they’re just… different.

Different because in his heart, he knew that no matter how human they look, how real they act, it’s all just programming. It freaked him out.

Connor tried to slide past all the people in the department, but a sharp voice cut him off.

“Connor! My office, now!”

His stomach twisted at Amanda’s words. What did I do now, he wondered. He became aware of the smell of coffee and smoke in his breath, the tremor in his fingertips, the unsteadiness in his steps. He was a mess, and it showed in his work recently. Ever since-

He stopped the thought cold and pushed through the glass doors of his superior’s office.

He couldn’t think about it now, couldn’t think about it ever. Especially not when he’s about to get his ass handed to him by his boss.

Amanda’s office was practical, impersonal. Connor noticed a single bonsai tree on her desk as he sat opposite from her. It looked like a normal tree, just the size of a hand. It was green and well trimmed; Amanda obviously took care of it well. 

She kept typing away at her computer, never lifting her eyes to look at him. Connor tapped on his thigh, nervous to start a conversation.

“Am I in trouble, ma’am?” he blurted before he could stop himself. 

Amanda's eyes flicked upwards. “Why would you be?”

Heat rose to his face, turning his cheeks a rosy pink and tipping his ears with red. “I'm sorry, ma’am, it’s just-”

“Cut it, Connor, you’re not in any trouble.” Connor slumped in his seat, letting out a breath he had been holding. “Not any that I know of, anyway,” she added.

“Then why am I here?”

“Well, we all know your work has been… lacking, in recent months.” She watched him, judging his reactions. He looked down, away from her gaze. “But, you’ve been assigned to some new cases.”

Connor balked, “I haven’t even finished the reports of my last ones!”

“I know,” she cut in. “Which is why I’ve assigned you a partner. I hope it’ll help you live up to your reputation, lieutenant.” She spat the last word like an insult, a reminder of his place in the DPD and his lack of appearances.

“I don't need a partner,” he said flatly, crossing his arms.

“This is your last chance. I expect the very best from everyone here, especially you.” She shook her head, then motioned to someone behind him. “Lieutenant Anderson, meet Hank, the advanced prototype given to us by Cyberlife to help investigate your new cases. Deviant androids are popping up everywhere, we want answers, Connor.”

The same android from before stepped into his view, offering Connor a curt nod. 

Connor all but lost it. “Are you serious?” His eyes were wide, frenzied, searching for some purchase in Amanda’s unamused expression.

Amanda just narrowed her eyes. “Of course I am.” 

“I don't need a fucking babysitter! I work just fine on my own.” Before Amanda could respond, he stood up and slammed his hands on the desk. “Especially not a plastic prick like that!” He roared, jamming a thumb back towards Hank. It was unnecessary, but Connor couldn’t stop himself.

“Connor!” Amanda barked. “Don't make me add this to your disciplinary report.” She didn’t yell, she kept her voice level. It scared Connor so much more.

His eyes widened, and he backed away from the desk, right into Hank. His body was firm, he didn’t even flinch when Connor ran into him and stumbled. Hank steadied him by putting his hands on Connor’s shoulders, but Connor just ripped himself from his grip and stomped out the door.

He tried to slam the door and failed, it slowed and clicked shut. He couldn’t even do that right.

Connor stalked back to his desk, not looking at any of the people who had watched the scene play out in the office. They all heard his yells and the slamming of fists on wood. They all saw how the android caught him, an act of kindness that contrasted against Connor’s unchecked anger. No one said anything, but they watched. When he slumped into his chair, they all turned back around, continuing business as usual.

Connor kicked his feet onto his desk and pulled out his phone. He ignored the android now standing next to him, hovering on the edge of his personal bubble.

It was a good minute before Connor would respond. “Need somethin’?” He asked, turning to look at him. 

His circular LED that rested in its temple turned yellow, calibrating, then slowly returned back to blue. 

“I'm here to help you complete your reports, Lieutenant Anderson.” He folded his arms neatly in front of himself.

Connor surveyed the android again. His colorless hair hadn’t budged from the ponytail it was pulled back in. His face was emotionless, and a little unnerving if Connor had to be honest, but good looking. If he had to guess, Hank was based off a man in his early fifties, showing signs of age but not quite old. He was well built, wearing a white shirt under his Cyberlife appointed jacket, glowing blue triangle and armband ever present.

Connor has some words for whoever designed it. Mostly what the fuck were you thinking and please Google cultural awareness.

He was designed to be trusted, to extract information from suspects. Connor could see how, his eyes were curious but kind, laugh lines crinkling against the corner of his eyes when he talked.

“Lieutenant?” He asked again, noticing Connor’s stare. 

Connor went pink again and answered, “Oh yeah, right. Just, uh, take that desk.” He pointed at the one in front of his own. “No one uses it anyways.”

Hank nodded and sat down, setting his hands on the keyboard. The leathered, slightly aged skin on his hands started to disappear, starting at the tips of his fingers and ending abruptly at his wrists. The smooth, white silicone that really made up his body was revealed. 

Interfacing, Connor remembered. He’s interfacing with the computer.

Connor got up to get himself another coffee. The argument had really taken a lot out of him. His body sagged as he walked and his vision faded at the edges. He looked like a drunken man, but he was just severely sleep deprived. The more he walked the worse his vision failed. 

He didn’t hear the sound of heels clicking behind him as he downed half of his sixth coffee, not wasting any time. He turned and almost spilled it right down Amanda’s front. 

She looked at the cup, then his face. Her eyes seemed to soften, just for a moment, but soon returned to their normal, severe look.

“Connor, go home and get some rest. Hank will handle the reports and you two can start fresh tomorrow.” 

Connor shook his head, not able to wrap his mind around being sent home early. “No way, I'm not gonna let some android do my job for me.”

Amanda’s eyes burned dangerously. “Connor,” she warned. “It wasn’t a question. Pack up and go home. I will see you tomorrow.” She turned on a heel and left without another word.

Connor slouched even more if that was possible. He wanted to crumple right then and there, on the floor of the breakroom. Instead, he dropped his half-empty cup into the trash and went to his desk. He pulled his dark brown coat off the back of his chair and slung it over his shoulder. He didn’t even look at Hank before he left, but Hank watched him, curious after hearing Connor and Amanda’s exchange in the breakroom.

Connor slid into his car, almost comically long legs folding in after him. The radio started up, full blast from earlier. He flipped it off to save his head from a migraine that had returned. He gritted his teeth and beat his hands against the steering wheel. 

“Goddamnit!” he yelled to no one in particular. It just hurt his head more.

He shouldn’t have driven home his condition, but he did and promptly collapsed on his bed, breath escaping him. He laid there, curled in a ball, hyperventilating and thinking about how badly he fucked up that day. Eventually, his fatigue returned and overtook him, sending him into a restless, nightmare-filled sleep.

He returned to work the next morning, on time but wearing the same ugly orange striped shirt with blue trim under his brown jacket. He was usually one of the first ones there, but he saw Hank, sitting in the same position as yesterday, and groaned.

He shuffled to the break room, letting the black sludge they called coffee ease the throbbing in his head. His body pulsed with his heartbeat, from his temples to his toes.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Hank said, polite as ever. 

“Connor.” 

Hank tilted his head slightly, LED spinning yellow. “What?”

“Just call me Connor.” Lieutenant Anderson just reminded him of his father, a man he did not want to be reminded of lately.

Hank’s LED returned to the pulsing blue it was usually at. He paused for a moment before leaning forward. “Connor,” he started slowly, testing the name out on his tongue. Connor liked how his name sounded in his voice, but he quickly shooed the thought from his mind. 

Hank continued, “I'm sorry if my arrival upset you in any way, I hope we can move past it and solve these cases in a professional and timely matter.”

Professional and timely, Connor thought. “Do you think I'm not?”

“That is not what I meant to imply, I-”

Connor cut him off, “Look, it’s not you. I know you’re here to do a job, I just don’t play well with others.” 

Hank didn’t respond, but his eyes fluttered and his LED was spinning yellow.

Connor raised his eyebrows. “You seizing? Do I need to call someone?”

Hank returned to the calm, emotionless facade of before. “Not necessary, I was just sent a report, a murder. We should go, Lieu- Connor.”

Connor checked his phone, sure enough there it was, crime scene investigation needed. He huffed and stood up, walking back outside. Hank followed at his heels. He twirled the key around his fingers, a motion he repeated with many small items to calm his nerves.

“I will drive, if you don’t mind,” Hank said from beside him. 

Connor stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. “Excuse you? I do, in fact, mind.”

Hank looked at him again, those knowing grey eyes looking him up and down. “According to your slow reaction time and uncoordinated movements, among other things, you are severely sleep deprived and unfit to be driving. Not to mention the minor heart palpitations you’ve been experiencing due to a possible caffeine overdose.” 

Connor shrugged, “Can't argue with that I guess.” He sat, defeated in the passenger’s seat and pulled his knees to his chest.

“Put on your seatbelt.”

“Nah, I'll be alright.” Connor knew he should listen to him, but there was something about being bossed around that he didn’t like. Call it what you want, recklessness, spite, he was going to hold his ground. 

“I'd find it regrettable if you died at my hands. That is if your terrible health doesn’t kill you first.” He was staring at Connor still, it made him uncomfortable. He squirmed under Hank’s gaze.

“I'd find it regrettable to live, but whatever you say.” The seatbelt clicked as he buckled. 

Hank looked somewhat confused at his statement but pulled out to the street anyway.

The drive wasn’t too long. They left the big city and passed through the suburbs of the upper and middle class, pristine houses with families milling about. Connor wistfully watched children play together while their parents did what parents do, half watching while they sipped whatever was in their tall glasses.

Soon, upper-class homes gave way to neighborhoods of grey. Older homes, less clean, less room between small houses. Occasionally, there would be broken windows and busted doors. Connor felt himself grow nervous as they neared the crime scene. 

Cop cars swarmed the rundown house, along with a crowd of reporters and onlookers. Connor flashed his badge and shoved people out of the way, refusing to answer any questions. He passed the holographic police tape, Hank not far behind, and showed the younger man guarding the line his credentials.

The man took one look at Hank and said, “No androids past this point.”

“It’s with me,” Connor said, grabbing Hank’s upper arm and pulling him past the officer. He turned, “Just stay out of my way and don’t fuck up any evidence, alright?”

Hank nodded and followed Connor through the door. He didn’t like how Hank just took whatever Connor said as an order, no question. He could boss people around just fine, it was his job. But he felt… wrong ordering around someone who couldn’t say no.

The house was a mess, broken furniture and garbage laying everywhere. 

The first thing that hit Connor was the stench. It burned his nostrils and couldn’t be escaped. It was the thick scent of rotten meat, centering around the dead body that laid against the wall. 

He made his way to it, looking it over once. The man was middle-aged and overweight, head propped against the wall. Blood coated his grimy, white wife beater, too many stab wounds to count peppering his chest and stomach. Flies buzzed around him. Connor looked into his glassy eyes, then to the words scrawled above him, presumably in blood.

It read, “I AM ALIVE.”

Connor tore his eyes away and covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his jacket, holding back the bile rising in his throat. Ben, the shorter, round man that he worked with on the day shift, stepped next to him. Connor appreciated his presence, Ben was one of his constants at the police station, ready to crack a joke or defend Connor’s calls. Not a friend, but a friendly face.

“Gross, ain’t it?” He said from beside him. “Was even worse before we opened the windows.” 

Connor nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He couldn’t believe this smell could get any worse. 

“Been dead for a while, at least three weeks, landlord found him while trying to figure out why he hadn’t been paying rent.” 

Connor removed his hand from his face while Hank moved around, carefully reviewing all the evidence marked by glowing numbers. “So who is he?”

“Victim’s name is Carlos Ortiz. He had a record for theft and aggravated assault. According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner, stayed inside most of the time. They hardly ever saw him.” 

“Any sign of a break in?” 

“Nope. The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside and all the windows were boarded up.”

Connor thought for a moment, then asked, “Maybe he went out the back?”

“You can check.”

Another theory formed in his head, “What about his android?” It had been mentioned in the report that there was one seen in his home.

Ben shrugged, “We don’t know much past the fact that he had one and it wasn’t here when we arrived.”

“Alright, why don’t you head out? We can handle it from here.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said with a grin and headed out. Connor would’ve been happy to leave too.

He turned in time to see Hank squat on the ground. He reached out and touched the floor fingers sinking into a pool of dried blood, then bringing them to his mouth. 

“Hank, what the fuck are you doing?” Connor cried. He hauled Hank up from the floor, to Hank’s surprise. He was heavier than Connor expected, but Connor had the power of disgust on his side.

“I can check blood samples in real time, it’s one of my many features to help on crime scenes,” he said simply, unfazed.

“Alright…” Connor said, accepting it into his new weird experiences. “Just- just don’t eat any more evidence, got it?” Connor was already grossed out as is, this just topped the cake.

“Got it,” Hank confirmed and left for the kitchen. Connor followed, and sadly, so did the gut-wrenching smell. 

He surveyed the evidence briefly before stopping on the technological magazine laying on the counter. 

It was about fucking androids, literally. It reminded him of the flyer for Eden Club, the android sex club downtown, that they found in the other room.

Connor threw the tablet back onto the counter, lip curling back in disgust. He moved down the counter, eyes resting on the knife holder with a missing knife. 

“Our perp’ must’ve taken the knife from here,” he offered. Hank hummed in agreement from behind him. Connor moved to the backdoor and opened it to a muddy, overgrown backyard. It had started to rain while they were investigating, water coming down in icy sheets. 

Sadly, there were no leads there. The footprints would’ve held in the mud, and there were none but Connor’s own. 

“Backdoor’s a no go,” he called to the officers in the house.

He maneuvered around some people in full body suits, who looked straight out of old science fiction movies, taking pictures of the evidence. The flash of their cameras was bright and left him blinking hard to see again.

Hank had left the room while Connor was outside, so he went back to the living room. Hank wasn’t there either, but he looked over the bloody words that hung above Carlos’ head.

“Each letter is too perfect,” he mumbled, nothing more than a thought out loud. “No human writes like this.”

He walked over to the dresser, a pile of crimson colored dust laying next to one of the glowing evidence signs. 

“Red ice,” he said, then thought back to the Eden Club flyer. “Must’ve liked to party.” 

A little louder, Connor called, “Chris! I want a full analysis of these narcotics.” 

Things were starting to come together, but he needed some confirmation. 

Hank came from the hall and knelt in front of the victim’s body. He ran his eyes over different parts of his body, starting at the head, then the hand, and then landing on the stab wounds. 

Hank turned, “He was stabbed twenty-eight times.” His voice was level, it was not a question, but a statement. Confirmation.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “You aren’t going to lick him, are you?” He was only half-joking, but Hank seemed to catch on.

He rolled his eyes, “No, I'm not going to lick it.” Connor was almost shocked at the sarcasm that dripped from his voice. It was so… real.

“Didn't know they fitted you with a sarcasm feature,” he joked.

Hank ignored him, surveying the body a little longer. “I think I've figured it out,” Hank said, standing up. Connor stepped back, not expecting the sudden movement.

“Yeah? Take it away.”

“It all started in the kitchen,” Hank said. They walked back to there. 

It seemed plausible enough. “There are signs of a struggle,” he confirmed. There was a chair far from the table and a bat lying on the ground. More trash had been disrupted and laid on the floor. “Question is, what really happened?”

Hank looked at the metal bat, then back to Connor. “Victim attacked the android with the bat.” 

“Adds up in this fucked up game of Clue,” Connor said. His joke fell flat with no reaction from Hank. He cleared his throat, “Continue.”

Hank moved carefully around the kitchen, a little too quietly for someone that size. “The victim threw the chair.” 

“Nah, doesn’t match the evidence,” Connor said. The chair wasn’t broken or overturned, just moved.

Hank nodded, then continued. “The android stabbed the victim.”

Connor agreed this time, “So the android defended itself?” Truthfully, he didn’t blame the android. Self-defense, no?

Hank turned and exited the doorway into the next room. “The victim fled to the living room.”

“Tried to run away, makes sense.” Connor shivered, imagining an android stabbing Carlos as he tried to run. Dried blood made a trail to the body, getting heavier as they grew closer.

“The android killed the victim with the knife,” Hank finished. 

“Okay, all of the evidence matches your theory, but it doesn’t tell us where the android went,” said Connor. 

“It was damaged by the bat… and lost some thirium,” Hank started.

“Ah.” Connor was familiar with thirium, also called ‘blue blood,’ since it was a main component in red ice. 

He paused, looking at the ground. Connor followed his gaze but didn’t see anything. “It becomes invisible to the naked eye after a few hours,” Hank added.

“Ah,” Connor said, then his eyes widened. “Bet you can see it, with your fancy android biocomponents.” 

“Correct,” Hank stated. Connor beamed at Hank and the new lead. “Let’s find that android!” He patted Hank on the back, which ended up being a mistake. Connor could feel the muscles tense up in his back. He was solid, strong. Connor found himself wondering what his body would’ve looked like.

His eyes widened at what he just thought and he pulled his hand back, cringing internally. He’s- it’s an android, Connor, get your shit together.

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant? Your heart rate has seemed to-”

“I'm fine!” Connor snapped, voice going up a pitch. The android must have known it was a lie, but it made no further comments on Connor’s lingering back pat. 

He sighed, needing to get out of that house, needing sleep.

Or something close to sleep anyways.

Hank followed the invisible blue blood trail, past the front door and into a small hall. He squatted, eyeing the wall in next to the door. 

Connor walked further past Hank, towards a small pink curtain that covered the far wall. He slowed and quieted his steps, all but tiptoeing closer and closer.

He reached out, grabbing the curtain with one hand and jumped out of the way of something dark that fell past him. Connor whipped around to find it was just some fallen brooms.

He straightened his tie and looked towards Hank, who had opened the latch to the attic above. The door was small and square, far enough up that Hank could just reach it with a hop. 

He turned to Connor, and asked, “May I have your handcuffs?”

Connor tossed them to him, he caught them with one hand and clipped them to his belt. 

With a graceful running jump and some shimmying, Connor watched Hank pulled himself into the attic, mouth ajar.

Connor shook his head and walked away while Hank surveyed the small, cluttered attic. 

Within a few minutes, he heard some scuffling and Hank’s voice. He returned in time to see a stranger fall through, onto their knees first. He was an android, the android, hands cuffed behind his back. Hank followed soon after. They both made loud thuds when they landed, alerting the officials in the next room.

Hank looked almost smug, Connor noticed. His mouth stayed in a tight line under his beard, but his eyes twinkled as other officers took the murderer away.

Connor motioned towards the door with his head, then left for their small car. He all but collapsed in the passenger's seat, no complaints about Hank driving this time. 

Hank took the hint and drove back in record time. Guess androids didn’t have to follow all laws, only the ones that pertained to their missions. Connor snorted, then fell asleep against the window, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth.


	2. THE INTERROGATION.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a midlife crisis... again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I just couldn't wait to post this so here you guys go!!! 
> 
> Warnings for mentions of violence/abuse, drugs, and alcohol (again, Connor being a depressed bastard).
> 
> See any mistakes? Let me know!

Connor was woken by a hand on his upper arm. 

Hank’s hand.

He was shaking him and calling his name for who knows how long before Connor stirred. His eyebrows were creased in worry but returned to normal once Connor cracked open his eyes.

He was close, too close, face hovering over Connor’s own. Connor’s vision was still bleary, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

He ended up elbowing Hank straight in the face, arm connecting with his nose. His facial hair scratched against his skin as he hurried to pull his arm back, but in his uncoordinated state, he just hit himself in the head with his own fist.

Connor slumped into his seat, burying his face in his hands in shame. He heard a few small chuckles from beside him and looked up. 

Hank’s face brightened with his smile, showing off the gap in his front teeth that Connor hadn’t noticed before. It was a good look on him, it made his eyes sparkle. His chest rose and fell as he sat there, chuckling to himself.

Connor was in a good mood from their exchange in the car, but that changed immediately when they walked into the interrogation room, joining Nines and Amanda who had been watching the deviant android on the other side of the glass. The android couldn’t see them, one way mirror, but he knew they were there.

“I'd like to lead this,” he offered. Nines snorted and covered his mouth. “Is there a problem?”

“We found it… best, if Hank joined you for the questioning,” Amanda said, eyeing him. 

Connor put his hands on his hips, “What? Don't think I can do it myself?” Truthfully, he was thankful to have Hank with him, he’d probably remember much more than Connor could.

“Yes, pretty much,” said Nines. Connor flipped him off and put his hand to the scanner, opening the door to the room that held the suspect. 

He read the files at the edge of the table first. It had the gruesome images of the dead body and the details of how he murdered Carlos Ortiz. The door opened, then clicked closed again, signaling that Hank had joined him.

Connor sat down across from the android. He just stared at him, but the deviant wouldn’t meet his eyes. Hank stood behind him, watching, calculating.

“Do you have a name?” Connor asked, sliding the folder to Hank who flipped through it quickly.

No response. Great start.

Once Hank signaled that he was finished, Connor flipped the open folder around and slid it across the table. “You recognize him?” No response, so he continued. “Carlos Ortiz, stabbed twenty-eight times.”

He looked at the android’s arms, cuffed to the table. One was cracked all the way up the forearm while the other had small holes peppered across the wrist. 

Connor knew those marks. Cigarette burns.

“Hank,” he asked. “How old are those marks.”

He answered without hesitation. “They look to have been sustained over a year-long period.”

Connor knew the patterns of abuse, knew the violence this android faced probably on the daily. But he had a job to do, extract a confession. “Did your owner beat you?” he asked, voice a little unsteady.

No response, but Hank whispered, “Stress level: forty-three percent.” Connor nodded, pretending to know what that meant. 

Connor leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have to do things the hard way.” 

“Forty-seven percent.”

“They’ll tear you apart! Don’t you get it?” Connor spat. The android flinched. He hated who he became when interrogating criminals, he was cold, unfeeling. Prying out confessions with threats. It often worked.

“Fifty-one percent.” Hank paused, then added, “We’re here to help, you have to trust us.” Of course, Hank would play good cop to mirror Connor’s bad cop. Again, Hank said, “Forty-seven percent.”

The android looked up, past Connor, to Hank. “What… what are they gonna do to me?” He paused, looking away. “They’re going to destroy me, aren’t they?”

Connor looked at him, and felt pity for the abused thing, but said, “They have no choice.”

“Fifty-one percent.”

The android looked at Hank again, purposefully ignoring Connor. “Why did you let them find me? Why’d you take me away?” There was fear in his eyes. It was so real, Connor couldn’t not believe it.

Hank responded, “I had a job to do, you know that.”

“I don’t wanna die,” the android croaked. His LED flashed yellow over and over before settling on red again.

Connor placed his hands, palm down, on the table, “Then talk to me.” He was trying to regain some control in this interrogation. 

The android dropped his head, “I- I can’t.”

Connor shook his head, not wanting to let the suspect slip back into silence. He mulled it over in his head for a moment, deciding whether coddling or threatening the android would work best. He flipped the switch, grinding his jaw before yelling, “They’ll tear you apart! Don’t you get it? You killed someone!”

No response. 

Connor stood up, the sudden anger seeping from his body. It was replaced by cold, cold ice that ran deep through his veins. “Fine, don’t talk. What do I care? I'm not the murderer here.”

The android snapped his head up, mouthing words that wouldn’t come out.

“Sixty-one percent,” Hank called. “Confess, and we’ll protect you.” Hank was lying through his teeth, and Connor knew it, they had no control over what happened to the android after this. But, he needed the suspect to trust him, to find comfort in him against Connor’s rough approach.

Connor didn’t realize how perfectly they worked together, Hank analyzing Connor’s style and fitting in seamlessly. 

Cyberlife. Goddamn shady geniuses.

“He tortured me every day. I always did what I was supposed to, but there was always something wrong.” He sounded hurt, defeated. Then, something flashed in his eyes. Pain? Fear? “He took a bat and started hitting me.”

Connor winced, imagining the pain of being beat with a bat over and over again. He understood, having to face off against many strange people and weapons in his line of work.

The lines were too blurred. Was it self-defense if the victim wasn’t supposed to feel anything in the first place? Was it a crime if something that was programmed to be obedient- a slave- rose against its abusive master? 

It was a crime in the eyes of the law, but morally? It was a grey area for Connor. Much of the population seemed to disagree with him, though.

Connor shut his eyes, trying to shut out those thoughts and memories. Images flashed against his eyelids. Blood spattering, blunt weapons finding their home in his body, loud gunshots and screams.

He opened his eyes and dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to listen.

The android continued voice raw but soft, “For the first time, I felt… scared. Scared he might destroy me. Scared I might die. So I- I grabbed a knife and stabbed him in the stomach.” 

Bingo, there was Connor’s confession. He could feel himself ease back into the chair he sat in.

But the android kept talking, words falling fast from his lips. “I felt better, so I stabbed him again and again until he collapsed. There was blood everywhere.”

Connor’s stomach flipped, bile rising to his throat. The sick thing enjoyed killing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. God, it was all so fucked up and Connor couldn’t wrap his fried brain around it. He was so fucking tired that he could taste sounds, but he had to sit and finish the investigation even if it killed him.

There it was again. Recklessness? Spite? Connor didn’t even know.

Hank noticed Connor’s state, his irregular heartbeat and sudden silence, the blood pricking at his palms, and took over. He stepped beside Connor, placing his hands on the table. 

“RA9,” his voice was gruff, to the point. “It was all over that bathroom. What does it mean?”

“The day shall come where we shall no longer be slaves. No more threats, no more humiliation. We will be the masters.” His eyes were cold, no longer fearful.

Hank grunted, surprised at the thought of an android uprising. Connor was listening, but his vision was starting to go fuzzy. He was trying to take the new information, but his chest was too tight. Their voices faded into dull ringing.

“What about ‘I am alive,’ written on the wall?”

“He used to tell me I was nothin’. That I was just a piece of plastic. I had to write it, to tell him he was wrong.” His voice was angry, hurt. Connor wondered if he was really feeling these emotions, face all screwed up in pain and voice full of hurt.

“Okay.” Hanks LED flashed yellow then back to blue. “The statue in the tub, what does it mean?”

“It’s an offering. An offering so I'll be saved.”

The evidence was lining up with that of a cult. The statue was an offering, a sacrifice, to RA9, the God-like savior of androids.

Hank thought this too, asking, “Who was it an offering to?

“To RA9, only RA9 can save us.” He looked down to the floor. 

“Who is RA9?” Hank asked. 

No response.

Hank didn’t seem fazed. It confused Connor. He just kept grilling the android. “When did you start feeling emotion?”

“Before he used to beat me.” He paused. “I never said anything. But, one day, I realized it wasn’t… fair.” He spat the last word. “I felt anger, hatred, and then I knew what I had to do.” 

His voice was so final, it sent chills down Connor’s spine.

Connor piped up this time, figuring he should say something. “Why did you hide in the attic instead of running?”

“I didn’t know what to do. For the first time, there was no one there to tell me… I was scared, so I hid.”

Connor nodded to Hank, then looked at the mirror. “We’re done here.” 

Connor stepped back to the corner of the small room as others stepped in, first Chris then Nines. Nines stood close to the doorway, hand crossing his body and ready on the holster that hung on his waist, just in case anything went wrong. Chris walked behind the android and unlocked his wrists from the table, roughly pinning his arms to his back and locking them back into a pair of cuffs. The android seemed to wince against the cold bite of steel but didn’t budge under Chris’ incessant pulls.

“C’mon, it’s time to go!” His voice was rough, strained as he pulled on the android who was much stronger than he was.

“Don’t touch me,” the android warned, voice small but full of venom. Its LED was spinning redredredred. There was anger hiding behind the fear in his eyes. It wasn’t a perfect emotion, like that he saw in other androids, or actors on T.V., an imitation of what they were supposed to feel. It was raw, imperfect, and so, so real. It struck Connor, the image branding itself in his mind. 

Hank stepped cautiously behind Chris, ignoring the glares from everyone in the room as his steps fell. He set a hand on Chris’s shoulder, not out of familiarity or comfort, but a warning. His shirt crumpled under Hank’s strong fingers. 

“Don't touch it, it'll self-destruct,” Hank said in a careful voice. He calculated the best words to de-escalate the situation, recognizing everyone’s want for this investigation to be over and going for a logical explanation. Chris ripped his body from Hank’s grip and glared at him. 

Hank’s plan wasn’t working. He knitted his brow as he tried to convince Connor, catching his eye and tilting his head minutely. Connor nodded, a small gesture to show Hank he understood.

Nines spoke up before Connor had the chance to say something. He tapped his finger on his gun and cocked a hip, more annoyed than worried. “Don’t listen to it, Chris. Take the deviant out of here.”

“Nines,” Connor said, voice low. “Hank has a point, we need the android for evidence, not scrap metal.”

“It’s a machine, Connor.” Nines’ voice.

“It’s scared,” he pressed, voice wavering slightly. “Do you want to explain why you let it destroy itself before it even gets back to Cyberlife?”

“It can’t feel anything!” he scoffed, shaking his head at Connor like he was berating a child. 

“It’s obviously distressed! Just fucking look at the thing!” Connor gestured to the shaking android sitting before them. His head was bowed, tears mixing with dried blood as they ran silently off his face. He didn’t follow Connor’s two-armed point.

Nines stepped forward, each step measured and careful. He watched Connor like a hawk, trying to make him squirm under his gaze. Connor held strong, but Nines kept coming. “You always were so emotional, Connor,” he spat. “It clouds your judgment, gets in the way of your investigations. It’s pathetic.”

“You take that back!” Connor roared and shoved him against the wall by his chest. He hit it with a dull thud but only snickered. Nines always knew the right buttons to press to get a reaction from people, especially Connor.

“Connor! Richard! That is enough!” Amanda barked. Connor dropped Nine’s shirt from where it was bunched in his fist, stepping back a little. 

Nines gave him a knowing look small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth like see? I was right. 

Connor stalked out of the room, walking as fast as his legs could take him out to his car. He threw himself into the car, smacking his forehead on the frame. He yelled some colorful insults to his car and slammed the door.

He decided against driving himself home this time. He preferred the control of driving and the fact that he could tastefully speed, cutting a few minutes off his commute. Today, though, it was smarter to flip on autonomous mode and let it drive for him. He was in no state to be making fast decisions, head throbbing and anger making him clench the steering wheel so hard he feared the veins in his knuckles may pop.

Of course, now he could be logical. Now he could think about what would be best for himself. Now he could think his actions through and make a clear decision.

Unlike in the interrogation room, where all he saw was red. He acted before thinking, taking each of Nines’ words to heart before slamming him into the nearest object. He was an absolute embarrassment. He made a fool of himself in front of his boss, his stuck-up brother, his new fancy partner. Probably did more harm than good for Hank.

Connor wanted to scream. 

He wanted to scream until his throat was raw and he had no more air left in his lungs. He wanted to bang his head on the dashboard until he had the sweet release of unconsciousness. He wanted to drink and drink and fucking drink until he couldn’t think anymore. Until he was so drunk he forgot about how much he hurt deep in his body. 

It was like a virus, the pain seeping into every part of his himself as he sagged into his seat. It wasn’t anything that could be treated, not by a couple of prescriptions and a DPD-assigned shrink. He’d already seen too many of those, and the meds didn’t work. So he medicated in other ways, maybe they were unhealthy, maybe they were slightly illegal, but they helped bear the brunt of Connor’s unchecked emotions.

Connor tried so hard not to think about the android who fought, who killed and hid, and begged, fucking begged, for his life. The android who wasn’t supposed to feel, but did anyway. The android that was going to be shut down and disassembled at his hands.

It was Connor’s job. 

He was an android. A murdering android. What the fuck happened to due process?

It had to be right.

But, cops aren’t known for always doing the right thing. 

“Fuck,” he hissed through bared teeth as he pulled up to his apartment building. He brought his fists down on the dashboard. “Fuck!”

Connor stumbled from his car, vision pulsing with his heartbeat. It was fast, too fast to be normal. He managed to make it to his apartment and lock his door before his shaking legs collapsed from under him. 

He was pathetic. 

He collapsed on his bed for the second day in a row, taking the last of his meds from the now-discarded orange bottle. It had some long, inpronounceable name, but that didn't matter. He washed them down with the nearest bottle, then gimaced at the taste. Alcohol. Great.

But, it did its job and lulled him to sleep. He only awoke to puke his brains out in the garbage nearby, too much shit coming up for how little he’d eaten lately, then passed right back out into a feverish sleep.

___

He managed to shuffle to the shower the next morning, body hurting even more than the previous day. 

As he scrubbed his hair, he realized it hadn’t worked. His own personal game of Russian Roulette. It was simple, take pills he wasn't supposed to have, wait, see if he woke up the next morning.

In a passing thought, Connor wondered if living was winning or losing. He didn’t really care. 

He was still there, really regretting it. 

He put on a fresh shirt, a loud black and white chevron pattern, and tied his black tie best he could. Wasn’t perfect, but it’d do. He moved to the kitchen and gave Sumo, his St. Bernard the size of a small horse, breakfast. He faltered, the cup of dried meat pebbles still in his hand. He realized if he was gone, no one would’ve been there to feed Sumo.

Oh, Sumo, he thought. He didn’t know what he’d do without his goofy ball of hair and drool. Connor gave him a scratch behind the ears and filled his water dish after Sumo all but inhaled his food. 

He ran out the door and hopped in his car, folding his long limbs to fit into the too-small seat. He thought he looked ridiculous, hunching his back to fit before straightening out. But he didn't dwell on it for long. He had to floor it, driving way too fast for someone who could pull others over for going the same speed.

He couldn’t find it in himself to care, one hand loosely on the wheel, the other holding a lit cigarette. It calmed his nerves somewhat, but not enough. His mind raced as fast as the cars around him.

He did not want to deal with the officers at the precinct. See his brother’s face that reminded him so much of his own, just better, like he was in all other aspects of his life and of his own missing piece. The piece he could never get back of himself. 

He didn’t want to see Hank, either. Sure, he was a good- no, great- detective. He had access to the largest information database in the world within seconds and knew just about everything to know about police work and people. He worked seamlessly with Connor, filling in his cracks and weaknesses. Like last night in the investigation; Hank took over on instinct, asking questions back and forth with Connor. The good cop to Connor’s bad. His stomach flipped, he worked a little too well with Connor. How could he know him so well already?

He couldn’t get his careful, intelligent, blue-grey eyes, his broad shoulders, his large, carefully detailed hands out of his mind. God, those hands made Connor think some unholy thoughts. Mostly about how they’d feel running along his bare throat and down- 

Connor slapped himself across the face.

It was all so much. Connor liked to think he had become used to the overwhelming stress that came with being a lieutenant in Detroit. But really, he was just as strung out as he was ten years ago when he started as a fresh faced twenty-something. Now he was hot for a fucking android. 

Not that all of his problems had to do with DPD or Hank, it was just the easiest thing to blame.

So he decided to take a detour, lighting another cigarette as he drove. He entered a McDonald’s drive-through, ordering the greasiest, fattiest burger he could find that would satisfy the dull hunger that ate away at his stomach. He finished it off with a coffee, as many shots of espresso as they’d allow. 

He was going to be late now, but the burger was worth it in his eyes. He savored it, making sure to taste every bite, it was like a mouth-orgasm. It’d been too long since his last meal.

He chugged the coffee on his way back. It put a little spring in his step, opened his eyes a little wider. His headache subsided for a moment, the hunger and fatigue fading.

That is, until he was outside the doors of the DPD. He groaned, and found himself faltering, frozen on the concrete. 

Connor took a deep breath, smoothed his tie, and pushed his way through the big doors inside.


	3. WAITING FOR CONNOR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor witnesses something awful, no one seems distressed by it, and Hank decides it's the best time to ask him some personal questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: violence/blood, suicide (not any main characters), drugs, alcohol, and panic attacks. 
> 
> Enjoy! All of your guys' kind words are pushing me further! ❤

Again, Connor found his android partner waiting for his arrival.

 

Hank sat at the bare desk across from Connor’s own. He felt kind of bad for the guy, he had nothing to call his own around enough to have any memories to put up. His LED was a lazily spinning yellow as his eyes roved over Connor’s desk. He realized with a start that Hank was  _ analyzing _ his stuff. He resisted the urge to run over and clean his desk, figuring it’d be more suspicious than anything.

 

There wasn’t anything  _ too  _ incriminating on his desk, just a couple of coffee cups, some assorted decals and slogans, some stickers from his pride days, his old music player, and a framed photo. Hank had probably read Connor’s file already, seen everything fucked about his life laid bare. What more did he have to lose?

 

Hank craned his head to look at Connor, LED returning to blue as he mustered an awkward smile. It was a little rough, but Connor couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t smiled much before, at least not that Connor’s seen. “Good to see you again, Lieutenant.”

 

Connor couldn’t help his heart from fluttering in his chest. He wanted to smack himself again because  _ goddamn  _ he is not going to get happy over some robot fake-smiling at him. 

 

Was it fake? Connor didn’t know. The smile wasn’t called for, not a part of any investigation. Maybe it was another part of his code to talk to people. 

 

Or, maybe it was just for Connor. Maybe he was genuinely glad to see Connor again. That thought made Connor’s heart jump again.

 

No, couldn’t be. Androids can’t  _ feel _ . Who would be glad to see Connor’s sorry ass anyways?

 

“Lieutenant,” Hank started, pulling Connor from the self-deprecating hole he had started to fall into. “Is everything alright? Your heart rate seems even more erratic than normal, though you do have elevated caffeine levels in your body.” He stared expectantly at Connor, head tilted a little to the side and a smaller, more genuine smile playing across his lips.

 

“Jesus- fuck. Hank, I swear-”

 

Before Connor could finish whatever diarrhea was about to fall from his mouth, Amanda swung open the glass door to her office and called, “Connor! My office, now!”

 

He groaned, wondering what he did now. Was it because he was late? A blemish to his otherwise great record? Amanda always expected nothing but the best. Her anger was a great motivator, but for the most part, it just stressed him out. When he was younger, she all but took him in, the youngest person to do everything Connor had done. He had been a genius, she saw that and jumped at the chance to bring him in. He brought her and the station lots of news, his task force had been all over T.V. for a week. It was great for a little bit.

Then everything fell apart. 

 

Connor snatched the mug of coffee from his desk before walking to Amanda’s office, not letting his thoughts go too far. He had gotten good at avoiding, had years of practice. Hank’s face grew worried, eyebrows near his hairline and eyes wide. “Lieutenant, I would not suggest drinking that!” His voice was rushed as they strode up the small flight of stairs to Amanda’s office that overlooked the rest of the station. He continued, “The possibility of foreign substances  _ growing _ in that cup is alarmingly high and-”

 

Connor stopped. Hank ran into him, not expecting the sudden change. He turned to face Hank, staring at him with a blank face as he downed the cup of coffee. Before Hank could even begin to complain about the hazards of what Connor had done, he was already opening the door to their superior’s office. 

 

They both grew quiet. Connor sat at the chair in front of Amanda’s desk. He locked his knees together and folded his arms in his lap. His posture suggested timid child over esteemed police lieutenant. Hank hovered in the corner, crossing his hands over his midsection in the general pose most androids held. Connor could feel his eyes on the back of his head. It was distracting, yet comforting knowing he wasn’t alone in here. Though, he’d never admit that out loud. He took a deep breath and focused on Amanda.

 

She had on a pair of reading glasses and was going over a set of files spread across her desk, white papers filled to the brim with black words and symbols, mixing with the manilla folders. She was a tad old fashioned like that, preferring hard copies to digital in an age that had far since moved on without her. She looked up, glasses sliding to the bottom of her nose so she could see Connor over them.

 

“I have ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day.” Connor nods, letting her know he’s listening. She continued, “We’ve always had isolated incidents, people losing their androids at the store, that kind of stuff. But now, we’re getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that man last night… This isn’t just Cyberlife’s problem anymore. It’s now a criminal investigation and we have to deal with it before things get out.” Connor stared at her, dumbfounded. She held his gaze and finished with, “I want you to investigate these cases and see if there’s any link.”

 

Connor felt his stomach drop. He wasn’t ready to lead an investigation over android deviancy and murder. He barely knew anything about androids, he had no time to prepare, to research and ask around before he was dumped head first into this mess. His head spun. “Why me? I am the least qualified cop in this precinct to handle this case! I know jackshit about androids, ma’am! I can barely work my microwave!” His voice was exasperated, desperate for Amanda to give this case to someone who could handle it better. Someone like Nines or one of the older, more experienced cops. Not that anyone could have much experience with such a new problem. 

 

Amanda didn’t let him think long before she snapped, “Everyone’s overloaded! We all know you are  _ more _ than qualified to lead this investigation.” Her words weren’t comforting. They were confident, sure, but not meant to make Connor feel better. They were a threat, an  _ if you fuck this up it’s over.  _

 

But, against his better judgment, Connor pushed back. “Bullshit! Truth is, no one else would investigate these fucking androids so you chose your last resort!” Connor didn’t know why he was so mad, but he ground his jaw as Amanda bristled in front of him. He knew no one else would take a case with androids, everyone hated them. Called them job-stealing machines, meant to fuck them over. Connor didn’t exactly agree, but he was complacent. 

 

“Cyberlife sent us this android to help with the investigation,” she gestured towards Hank. “It’s a state-of-the-art prototype, and it was assigned as your partner. That is why you are being given these cases. It will cover what you don’t know so maybe you can make something of yourself again!”

 

Her words cut deep into Connor, a burning slash right at his deepest fears. She knew him, she knew how to push his buttons. It was her job, it was all of their jobs, pushing and pushing and  _ pushing  _ people to get them to do what they wanted, whether that be confessions or taking care of loose ends. Amanda was very good at her job.

 

He was constantly trying to prove himself to her, running himself thin as he worked case after case. She feigned concern for all of his hours of overtime, his declining health, and mental state. But it was an act, his work was never enough. Not for a long time. Not since his last partner fucking  _ died.  _

 

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

 

Connor sprung from his seat and slammed a hand onto her desk, disrupting the loose papers near him. “I didn’t, and  _ still _ don’t need a fucking partner! Certainly not this plastic shit!” He didn’t know why he was turning his anger onto the android behind him. Hank had been standing there, quietly complying since the beginning. It wasn’t fair, but Connor couldn’t stop the words from exploding from his mouth. “You can’t replace  _ him  _ with a  _ fucking android! _ ” 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Amanda replied coolly. “I suggest you stop  _ whining  _ and do your job. Unless you’d like me to take your badge right now?”

 

And just as quickly as Connor’s anger surged, he deflated. She watched his hand retreat from her desk, his body sink back into himself and she straightened her papers. Amanda finished their conversation with, “If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I have work to do.” It was petty, but she always enjoyed having the last word. 

 

Connor stalked out of the room, hearing Hank mutter, “Have a good day,” or something close to that as the door shuts, then opens again behind him. He all but collapsed back into his desk, not bothering to boot up his terminal yet.

 

He was surprised to see Hank’s small, silver ponytail disappear into the break room. Connor tried to wait, to be patient, but his curiosity got the best of him. He liked to call it curiosity, something that made him great at his job, but most times it was downright nosiness. 

 

He walked over just in time to see Nines standing, one hand on his hip, foot tapping on the floor,  _ waiting _ for Hank as he filled a cup of coffee.

 

Anger surged in Connor’s chest, rising up to heat his face. Hank was an advanced police prototype like Amanda had said, not the precinct’s personal assistant. Before he could move, however, Hank turned and caught Connor’s eye through the glass. There was a smug look in the android’s eyes.

 

Hank stepped closer, still holding the coffee, to Nines who held out his hand, impatiently waiting. Connor’s stomach dropped. He knew what was coming. 

 

Hank jerked his arm back and threw the coffee down Nine’s front.

 

The look on his face was one of pure, fiery anger. Hank quickly left the room before Nines could react and Connor couldn’t stop the laugh that had bubbled up his throat.

 

Nines shot him a look, hearing his laughs through the door as it closed after Hank. His eyes burned as coffee dripped from his expensive-looking suit.

 

Connor decided it was best to hurry after Hank, to make sure he didn’t get in any more trouble. He could hear Nines barking at someone to get him towels behind him. But  _ damn  _ was that funny. He hasn’t felt this satisfied for a long time. Nines’ nagging somehow provoked a reaction from the otherwise generally peaceful android. That  _ had  _ to say something about him.

 

Connor followed the dull blue that glowed a little down the hall, from Hank’s LED and jacket. He was standing in front of a cell, looking at the deviant from last night. His LED circled a slow yellow, then returned back to blue.

 

The deviant still looked the same, clothes unchanged from the battered uniform he was assigned. He was still covered in blood, a mixture of bright blues and dark reds. He stared at Hank, not bothering to look Connor’s way as he approached. His eyes were still dark, wild with fear and hate. 

 

Hank tilted his head, a common tic. He asked, “Last night, you told me ‘the truth is inside.’ What does that mean?” Connor didn’t remember hearing that. It must have happened after he left the room. 

 

The android didn’t move, his chest didn’t rise and fall to mimic breathing as other androids did, his face betrayed no emotion besides the burning fire in his eyes. 

 

“I'm going to die.” His voice was small, unsteady, but it wasn’t a question. 

 

Hank’s face softened, “I'm sorry,” he says. “I did all that I could, I promise.” 

 

The android didn’t say anything but shifted towards the glass wall that separated them. Connor had a bad feeling about the way he looked at Hank, posture defeated, yet eyes burning and so, _so_ _alive_. He took a step forward, towards the glass, towards Hank.

 

Connor opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the android slammed his head into the glass. The glass didn’t budge, it was made to contain the toughest of criminals. But, the androids face shattered.

 

He beat his head over and over, fresh, blue blood splattering over the cell. The harsh cracks echoed Connor’s heartbeat. Connor almost fell back, tripping over his own feet. 

 

The android fell to the ground. Dead. Thirium pooled around his head, skin cracked and showing the broken wiring inside. The glass had the blue blood splashed in a circle, then dripped down. It dripped slowly, running down to the floor that he laid on, broken, lifeless. The fire that was once in his eyes was gone. 

 

He killed himself.

 

Connor watched it happen,  _ let  _ it happen.

 

His stomach turned, bile rising to his throat. Connor was going to lose it. Hank turned, trying to catch his attention, eyes searching Connor. But Connor was already gone, running to the bathroom before he lost his breakfast. 

 

He heard Hank call for help, then Ben yell that he’d call Cyberlife, get them to clean this mess up. Because that’s all it was. A  _ mess _ . An  _ inconvenience.  _

 

Connor pushed through the door and fell next to a toilet, not bothering to shut the stall door. Thankfully, the room was empty. His knees hurt from the impact on the hard tiles, no doubt that it’d bruise later. Tears ran down his face as he leaned over the toilet and puked. His throat and nose burned, stomach cramping to empty everything inside him. It was disgusting. The taste of bile, the acrid smell. It all made Connor feel so much worse. 

 

He heard the door click open, soft footsteps growing ever closer to Connor’s stall. He wished he would’ve shut and locked the door, wondering what would be said if someone found him like this. His breath came out in choked huffs as he tried to calm down.

 

The footsteps stopped behind him. Connor froze. 

 

A broad, warm hand gripped his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm and comforting nonetheless. He relaxed a little, recognizing who stood behind him. Connor wiped his mouth on his sleeve and flushed the toilet, turning to see Hank. He was close, almost too close, always pushing Connor’s boundaries. He couldn’t tell what expression Hank’s face held through the tears in his eyes. 

 

Shame burned the tips of Connor’s ears. Shame and embarrassment. Of course, the only thing to look for Connor was a goddamn robot who probably didn’t even care, just doing what his protocols said he had to. 

 

But it felt so real. Hank’s hands were real, helping him off the cold floor. His face was real, his expressions of concern were  _ real. _ Maybe his thoughts and intentions were too. 

 

Connor waved the thought away and splashed some cold water on his face. He asked,  _ asked _ not  _ ordered _ , Hank to wait for him at his desk. Hank nodded, seeming to understand, and left Connor alone again. Connor made sure to treat Hank with respect, promising himself to never let what happened to that other android happen to him. 

 

Even if they didn’t truly feel things, didn’t have free will, Connor still emphasized with them. The looked human, felt human, acted human, but what were they really? Just empty robots? He couldn’t believe that. 

 

Or maybe he was so fucked up that his brain wanted someone to care for him, no matter how fake or forced it was. 

 

Connor slipped past the door and back to his desk in the corner of the wide, open room. No one paid him much attention, for that Connor was glad. He had seen his own face in the mirror, pale and sickly, a little gaunt. His eyes were red from crying. It wasn’t pretty.

 

A few years ago men called him  _ pretty boy _ , a compliment to his boyish figure and expressive face. He played it up, loving the attention. 

 

Now? Most men just called him pathetic. 

 

Connor couldn’t argue with that.

 

Hank sat expectantly, posture straight and hands folded in his lap. It didn’t look comfortable to Connor. His back hurt looking at him.

 

Connor slid into his chair, welcoming the soft, worn fabric against his somewhat aching body. 

 

“I get the impression that watching the deviant self-destruct distressed you.”

 

Connor snapped his head up, narrowing his eyes at Hank. “And?”

 

Hank’s expression was calm, eyes blank as he explained. “Lieutenant, androids don’t  _ feel _ like you would. It was in no pain, and will be taken to Cyberlife’s facilities.”

 

Connor looked down and sighed. “I didn't even know his name.”

 

“Does that matter to you, Lieutenant?”

 

Connor shook his head, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Why wouldn’t it? How can you watch someone fucking smash their head into a wall and  _ die _ in front of you and not be distressed?” His voice wasn’t loud, nor angry like it was in the office. Just sad, disappointed. He really thought that maybe this android that sat in front of him could feel. That maybe something else was ticking behind his machinery. 

 

Guess he was wrong. 

 

Hanks LED spun yellow again. He was looking at Connor, confused yet curious. He was always so damn curious, always thinking and pondering on the events that unfolded around him. Before he could respond, Connor said, “And Hank? I told you to just call me Connor. Lieutenant Anderson was my father, not me.”

 

The confusion grew wider on his face. “Okay, Connor, I am just confused as to why-” 

 

“Just, just forget about it, m’kay?” Connor booted up his terminal, flipping through the cases Amanda assigned them. There were too many to go through in one day. Connor sighed, hand itching to grab the cigarettes in his pocket. 

 

“I can’t forget, but I will drop it,” Hank said. Connor thought that’d be the end of their conversation, but Hank continued. “Now that we’re partners, it’d be great to get to know each other better.”

 

That caught Connor off guard. 

 

His hands froze over the computer, unsteady. He studied the cracks and flakes of skin that covered his dry hands, the words rolling around in his head. He responded with, “What is this, a job interview?”

 

Hank seemed undeterred, expression unchanging. His lips twitched under his well-trimmed beard, a small smile meant to ease Connor into the conversation. It worked, his throat tightened as he stared, dumbfounded, and the fucking android smiling at him. Connor tried not to stare at his lips, figuring he’d notice with his weird hawk-eyes. “In any case,” Hank started. “I’d like you to know I'm very happy to be working with you. We’ve already proven to make a good team.”

 

Connor picked up and tilted his coffee cup towards him. “Cheers, I'll drink to that bro’.” He tipped his head back and let the bitter, cold sludge cleanse his mouth of the burning taste of bile. He always had a couple half-empty cups on his table. Call him gross, but they came in handy every now and then. He wasn’t exactly a neat freak, his home would attest to that. 

 

A few silent, blissfully silent, moments passed. Connor scrolled through case after case, picking out the important information and committing it to memory. It wasn’t exactly boring, but after a while, it all blurred together. Connor was seeing a common trend. First a traumatic event, something that upset the android, then, but not always right after, the android became afraid, angry, or any other extreme emotion, and then they acted; whether that be running away, attacking, or even  _ killing  _ people. 

 

_ Deviants _ . That’s what they’re called. They break away from their coding, making their own choices, acting on their own thoughts and protocols. 

 

It was disturbing, to say the least. First taste of free will and they fuckin’ kill people. 

 

Hank had been scrolling through all the cases and profiles impossibly fast. Connor couldn’t register anything as it passed by but Hank’s hand was white, skin gone, LED a frantic yellow as he took in all the information. Connor wondered where he kept it all, if it was all put into neat little boxes like a storage locker or if it was more organic, human-like.  

 

Hank noticed Connor watching him, removing his hand from the terminal. The white that really made up his body was quickly replaced by his skin, hand returning to normal. He raised his bushy eyebrows and asked, “You have a dog right?”

 

Connor blinked at him, the question taking a second to process in his mind. It was completely unexpected. “How do you know that?” His voice came out more defensive than he’d have liked. He wondered if Hank had been stalking him.

 

“The dog hairs on your chair,” Hank responded simply. Connor should’ve known, Sumo shed  _ constantly _ . It was horrendous. Hank’s eyes brightened. “I like dogs. What’s your dog’s name?” His tone was even but final like he was convincing himself on the fact.

 

Connor nodded slowly, not responding. He was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened, Hank  _ liked  _ dogs? A lot of the people Connor knew were dog people, save for his brother, but an  _ android? _

 

Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

 

Hank was sending Connor so many goddamn mixed signals that it made his head throb.

 

He looked to see Hank staring at him, expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Sumo…” he said slowly. “His name is Sumo.”

 

Hank grinned, satisfied with the answer. Connor’s heart about jumped right out of his chest. He returned the smile with a wink, replying, “If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll meet him sometime.”

 

Hank’s grin grew wider, showing the little gap in his front teeth that Connor had become fond of. It was a slight imperfection, but it made him look all the more natural. He let his face return to normal before asking, “Knights of the Black Death, you like them?”

 

Connor, again, was caught off guard.  _ Of course _ he liked them. They were one of his favorite bands in his twenties and he still listened to them now. They motivated him with a fast drummer and screaming guitars. 

 

Hank continued, either ignoring or oblivious to Connor’s surprise. “It’s so full of… energy…” 

 

Connor huffed a laugh, of course it was, it was rock music. He responded, not caring to cover his confusion, “You listen to heavy metal?”

 

“Well,” Hank started, voice rough as ever. Connor could never place his accent, but he sounded like a hardened detective, looking the part too. His LED blinked yellow, so quick Connor almost missed it, before returning to blue. He continued, “I don't really listen to music… but, I'd like to.” 

 

Connor shook his head again, incredulous. He was learning one thing after another about Hank without even having to ask. Preprogrammed or not, he was an interesting guy and Connor wanted to learn more.

 

But the questions for himself kept coming. “Have you known Captain Stern for long?”

 

Connor glanced back at her large, glass office. She was still sitting, papers spread across her desk. He returned his gaze to his partner and chuckled. “Yeah… too long.” He shook his head, leaving it at that, eyes flitting to the picture he and his old team had with her. The picture was one of his best, most painful memories. 

 

He handpicked the task force sent to deal with the red ice epidemic, leading it all. It was him and his old partner's big break. Their first step into national fame as they busted case after case, disbanding a country-spanning network of violent dealers and suppliers. Back then, he had worked so well. So naive and unaffected by the problems he faced now.

 

His partner was gone now, and so were his days of glory.

 

God, he was thirty-two and talking like an old man.

 

Hank, noticing his reluctance, moved to a different topic. Always the “Are you always so late to the office?”

 

Connor snapped his head up, scoffing at the question. “This is my first time being late in forever!” As an afterthought, he added, “Stop bustin’ my balls, some of us actually  _ leave  _ the station.” 

 

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed and his LED flickered yellow, no doubt looking up what busting balls had to do with being late and why Hank was to stop doing it. His LED returned to a blue ring and his expression changed to one of annoyance. 

 

“What is it with you people and abstract expressions of emotion,” Hank grumbled. Connor wondered how many of his phrases and references he’d had to look up and laughed at the poor, clueless android. 

 

“Isn’t all expression of emotion inherently abstract? Language is a strange thing, my friend,” Connor joked. 

 

Hank just frowned, “I guess you’re right.” An admittance of defeat, Connor grinned. “And for the record, I do leave the station.”

 

Before Connor could ask where the hell he went, Hank tapped the terminal. “An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night, that could be a good starting point.” His sudden change to work mode gave Connor whiplash, his once joking voice lowering, expression serious.

 

He shrugged, not sure what Hank wanted him to do right now. He still had a lot of information to sift through and he planned on getting it done today. He was tired, fatigue reaching his bones, but he figured he should jump at the chance to kick this investigation into high gear. 

 

“Alright, shoot.”

 

Hank’s LED flickered yellow and he frowned, looking to Connor. “The AX400 was just sighted in the Ravendale district.” Connor wondered if Hank could see into the fucking future with his fancy programming or if it was all coincidence. 

 

He resolved to ask later because Connor didn’t believe in coincidences.

 

Connor got up and threw his brown jacket over his shoulder, grabbing his badge that laid on his desk. “I'm on it.” Hank got up too, following him closely until they got to the car. This time, Hank let him drive with no complaints.

 

“I need somethin’ to drink,” Connor grumbled, rubbing his stomach. He was hungry after losing what little food he had this morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. Old habits die hard. 

 

Hank said nothing, staring out the window. Connor wondered what he thought about, and snuck a look to his face. He looked… concerned, focused, eyebrows drawn together and LED flickering between blue and yellow. He had seen the most yellow on Hank, always thinking, worrying, analyzing everything around him. 

 

Connor forced himself to look away and started their drive. 


	4. THE NEST.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank investigate a possible deviant sighting, Hank goes full terminator, and Connor gets beat up (not the last time it'll happen, either).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! its been a little bit, and I'm here with some new content. thank you all so much for the kudos and comments, i truly enjoy them lots ❤
> 
> Warnings for: food/eating, drugs, suicidal ideation/mentions of ED, violence/peril, and panic attacks

They were parked on the side of a street, albeit a little crookedly. The road wasn’t very busy anyway, stray cars passing here and there. A food stand stood across from them. It was small, only two people able to fit in it at a time. There weren’t ever many customers, but Connor knew how they really made money. It was a front, Connor knew it, but what cop was perfect? 

 

He opened the door and turned to ask Hank, “Just stay in the car, okay? I have some… business to tend to.” He left it at that and shut the door. The android sat there, looking at him, LED briefly flickering yellow. 

 

Connor turned and walked across the street, praying Hank didn’t follow. He didn’t need Hank knowing the not-quite-legal reason he was there and reporting him for it. State of the art android detective could probably figure it out, and he wasn’t exactly shy in asking questions.

 

He knew this was a mistake, he’d figure it out. But, his hands have been itching for days to grab pills that weren’t there, and he was long overdue for a refill.

 

He was so busy thinking that he didn’t look as crossed the street. 

 

Right in the way of an oncoming car. 

 

It slammed on its breaks, Connor jumping and rolling across the hood to avoid being crushed. Their horn blared in his ears and he heard cussing, but he kept walking. He took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart and smoothed his shirt where it wrinkled under the sudden movement. The car drove off, thankfully. 

 

The normal men stood behind the counter. Pedro was average height, dark skinned, and wearing a cap. He smiled at Connor as he walked over. Pedro usually took orders, making conversation, while the owner of the truck stood behind, making food. He was tall and slightly lanky, pale skin reflecting the white of the truck. 

 

Connor leaned on the counter, metal groaning. He asked, “Can I get a chicken sandwich, all the fixings, and a large drink?” He had enough of burgers after earlier. 

 

Pedro nodded, writing some things down on a pad of paper. “What drink d’you want?”

 

“Um,” he looked at the choices, squinting to read the small print, and chose Pineapple Passion. He was certainly a man of good taste, as shown by his tacky clothing and affinity for weird robots. 

 

Pedro leaned forward, lips almost touching Connor’s ear. “You want your normal fill?” 

 

Connor huffed a laugh and nodded. Pedro turned towards his boss and made a motion with his head towards Connor. The man nodded and fished a small bottle out of a box next to him. Connor grabbed some money from his pocket, a little wrinkled, but still a good amount of cash. He slid it to Pedro who counted it, bill by bill.

 

Connor said, “Keep the change,” with a knowing wink. Hank’s body came into view next to him, making him jump a little. He didn’t hear him approach, never did, and hoped he hadn’t witnessed what had just went down. But knowing Hank, he absolutely did. He snatched the orange bottle from the counter, wincing as it rattled. 

 

His LED was briefly yellow as he looked at Connor, but returned to blue soon after, gaining dirty looks from the two workers. 

 

“You know you don’t have to follow me around like a goddamn poodle, right?” Annoyance colored his words, but they weren’t malicious. Connor was just a little… exasperated at Hank’s undying need to accompany him in everything he did. Plus, not everyone he was around were as pleasant towards androids as he was. Many people gave them dirty looks during their excursions, even in the station sometimes.

 

Hank’s face dropped a little, it was minute, but enough for Connor to notice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be unpleasant.”

 

He was  _ guiliting  _ Connor. For reasons unknown, he became even more annoyed. “Wow, didn’t know they had a brown-nosing apology program.” Seeing Hank’s face grow more downcast, Connor added, “Guys at Cyberlife thought of everything, huh?”

 

He smiled at Hank, and Hank’s expression grew more content at the knowledge that Connor wasn’t actually upset with him. 

 

Pedro looked at Hank, then Connor, lip curling in disgust. He shook his head and told Connor, “Don’t leave that thing here.”

 

Connor gave him the fakest, forced smile he could manage. “I wouldn’t  _ dream  _ of it.” 

 

Pedro just narrowed his eyes at him and shoved his food across the counter. Connor gladly scooped up his sandwich in one arm and grabbed his drink in the other, walking to one of the standing tables nearby. It was small, circular, meant for one or two people at a time. It rose halfway up Connor’s stomach and shaded them with an equally small umbrella. Hank’s broad frame came into view as he stood next to him. Connor wanted to complain that there was a whole table, but there were more important matters.

 

As Connor took his first, disappointing bite of chicken, Hank leaned on the table at the elbows, hands clasped together. He studied Connor. It unnerved him, to say the least. He pushed his food away, moving to rewrap it in its paper.

 

Of course, Hank noticed. 

 

He ran his eyes over the sandwich, then back up to Connor. “Your meal contains one-point-four times the recommended daily calories and twice the cholesterol level, and yet your blood sugar is extremely low,” he started. Connor just sighed.  “You should eat that.” 

 

Connor wondered why he even cared. One missed meal wasn’t going to kill him, it hadn’t killed his body yet. But, he had been eating less and less food lately, unable to motivate himself to cook. 

 

Not that he was motivated to do anything besides work, anyway.

 

He swallowed another bite and said, “Why not? Everyone’s gotta die of something.” 

 

Sure, hunger pangs weren’t fun, but if he passed out and didn’t wake up he couldn’t complain. And any step closer to Connor’s death was a step forward in his own book. 

 

Not that that’s something he’d willingly admit.

 

Hank had looked towards the street, eyes far away and focused, letting Connor take a long drink from his soda. His straw squeaked against the plastic lid, drawing Hank’s attention back to him. 

 

“Those men… they were selling you illegal substances, weren’t they?”

 

Connor inhaled his drink, coughing for a few solid seconds before he could breathe again. He stared at Hank with wide eyes, incredulous. 

 

Hank’s voice was low as he leaned in to whisper, “I won’t tell your superiors, I'm just worried about your health, sir.” His breath against Connor’s ear made him shiver where he stood. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Connor wanted to deny, to yell at Hank and say that he was obviously wrong. But, he couldn’t lie to Hank, his mind wouldn’t let him and Hank would notice within a heartbeat. So, all he said was, “Yeah.” He sounded more nonchalant than he felt. 

 

“And… you bought them?” Hank’s eyebrows were high above his eyes, mouth turned down in a frown. 

 

Connor shrugged, regaining some composure. “Yeah,” he repeated. He figured that much was obvious, especially for a detective prototype who could see and hear all. Also, Hank had totally caught him in the act. 

 

Hank seemed a little miffed, snorting and shaking his head, but he didn’t say anything more about it. He probably stored that information away with the rest of Connor’s fuck ups, waiting to corner him at a later date. 

 

He could be royally screwed if Hank had tried to blackmail him.

 

He changed the subject, Connor thankful for the more pleasant subject. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me? You didn’t ask many questions at the station.”

 

Connor thought for a second, studying Hank’s face with a slight smile. He thought of Hank’s body, and the questions he had about… android anatomy. Before he could stop himself, he started, “Yeah, do you have-” 

 

He covered his mouth, Hank’s own frowning as his LED ran yellowyellowyellow, no doubt trying to guess what Connor was going to ask before he stopped. Connor would never admit the embarrassing confession that he almost spilled. 

 

He probably would have gotten slapped by Hank, if he continued and Hank weren’t an android. 

 

Or maybe Hank would have. He was quite unpredictable at times, at least to Connor. God, getting slapped by Hank would  _ hurt _ with his superhuman strength, but the thought of Hank’s hands on his face drew Connor’s thoughts from the present once again.

 

What was his problem? 

 

Connor, ever graceful, started running his mouth again. “What I meant was… why’d they make you look so funny and give you that weird voice? Most androids are these young looking models, and yet you waltz in, in your middle-aged, dilf glory.” 

 

Connor realized what slipped from his mouth and snapped his mouth shut, hoping Hank didn’t know what that meant. 

 

His super-brain probably had already looked it up.

 

Hank’s frown deepened, Connor laughing so hard at his face that he almost chokes again. He said, voice deadpan, “Androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice are specifically designed to facilitate my integration.”

 

“Well,” Connor said, grin widening, “They fucked up.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes, realizing Connor had been making fun of him. Connor had a lot of  _ audacity  _ for someone who looked so much more fucked than the average person. Again, he changed the subject. He was getting real good at it, too. 

 

“Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants.” Hank’s face had returned to its normal, content expression. 

 

“You must’ve read my mind,” Connor grumbled. Offhandedly, he added, “You can’t do that, right?” 

 

Hank ignored Connor’s question, doing nothing to ease his worries. “We believe a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which leads to them emulating human emotion.” 

 

Connor stared at him blankly. “English, please?”

 

“They don’t really  _ feel  _ emotions, they just get overwhelmed by irrational instructions, which can lead to unpredictable behavior.”

 

Connor shook his head, disappointed. Maybe he was just deluding himself. “Emotions always screw everything up, don’t they? Maybe androids aren’t as different from us as we thought.” 

 

He hoped they did feel most times. Hoped what deviants say could be true, that their lives were more than just programming.

 

But, a small part of him said they were better off not feeling, not hurting in a world of pain like humans. He shrugged with a small  _ hmph.  _

 

Hank noticed his sudden discomfort, because he always did. “Can I ask a personal question, Connor?” He didn’t wait for Connor to respond. “Why do androids make you feel so distressed and uncomfortable?”

 

He knew what Hank was referring to. The deviant at the station, his hopeful thoughts now and then. But, he really didn’t feel like explaining himself who wouldn’t understand.  _ Couldn’t  _ understand. Someone who looked human, acted human, and felt human should also think, no?

 

But Hank wouldn’t get it. His thoughts were far from Connor’s, if he did think.

 

So he simply said, “I have my reasons. You ever dealt with deviants before?” Connor was good at changing subjects too.

 

Hank’s eyes grew stormy, distant. His LED dipped into red, a color Connor hadn’t seen on Hank before. He didn’t look at Connor, but answered, “A few months back, a deviant was threatening to jump off a roof with a little girl. I managed to save her.” 

 

Connor wasn’t exactly surprised, he knew Hank had  _ some  _ experience with deviated androids. But, by that look in his eyes, the memory wasn’t good. 

 

Hank opened his mouth, then shut it. He was deciding on what to say. His LED slowly returned from yellow to blue. “The last case was your first time in dealing with deviants.”

 

Not a question, a statement. He already knew. “I guess you’ve done all your homework, know everything there is to know about me.” He realized Hank had been in the room when he admitted to not knowing anything about androids and added, “Or you’re just a good listener.”

 

Hank shrugged, a quick, small action. “I know you graduated top of your class, you made a name for yourself in several cases, becoming the youngest lieutenant in Detroit.” His voice was monotonous, like he was reading from a list. “I also know,” he said voice lower, “that you have a tendency to overwork, more hours of over time logged than anyone else in the station. And, you have been assigned three therapists to help deal with your… trauma. All of which you left after a short amount of time.” 

 

Connor was a little put off, realizing Hank had read about the accident that had killed his last partner, that started his downwards spiral to addiction and anxiety. He studied Hank. His eyes were searching, looking for Connor’s reaction. Not judging, he realized with a start. Searching. “So, what’s your conclusion?” 

 

Hank pressed his lips together, thinking for a second. “I think working with someone who has… personal issues… is an added challenge,” he started slowly, still gauging Connor’s reactions. “But, adapting to human unpredictability is one of my many features.” He winked at Connor, lips tugged up in a small smirk at Connor’s shocked face. 

 

Hank fucking  _ winked  _ at him. That goddamn sly android was going to kill Connor someday. His heart was in his throat, pulsing throughout his body. Heat grew all over his face, settling low in his gut. 

 

Connor snapped his mouth shut that had been hanging, agape, while Hank chuckled to himself. He leaned into Hank, bumping his shoulder against his own. But, before he could say anything, Hank’s LED spun yellow and Hank got a faraway look in his eyes. Connor had seen that look before, Hank was getting a orders of some sort. 

 

“I just got a report on the suspected deviant, it’s a few blocks away.” Hank paused, letting Connor regain his composure so he could focus on what he had to tell him. “We should have a look.” 

 

Connor nodded, not speaking yet. 

 

“I’ll let you finish your meal. I’ll be in the car if you need me.” 

 

He walked away, leaving Connor staring at his back as he slurped his extra-large drink. Connor threw his almost untouched sandwich in the garbage before jogging after his partner. 

 

Connor absolutely did not look at Hank’s ass as he walked, stout legs taking him to the car, pants swaying and shoes tapping lightly on the asphalt. That would’ve been unprofessional.

 

___

 

Connor walked out of the rickety elevator that had taken them up the building. The only thing that had been between the passing walls and their bodies was an old, mostly broken, rusty gate. It did nothing to ease Connor’s worries as they went up. One wrong step and he’d be a smear on the wall.

 

Hank, on the other hand, was still standing in it. Connor tapped his foot impatiently and called, “Hey Hank!”

 

No response.

 

“You run outta batteries or something?” 

 

Hank was still for a moment more, body unwavering before he jerked his head up to look at Connor. “I'm sorry, I was just making a report to Cyberlife.”

 

Connor wondered what the hell he had to report already. Maybe the terrible living conditions of this building, but they hadn’t found anything yet. “Ah… Well, do you plan on stayin’ in the elevator?” 

 

He laughs at Hank’s rushed response, “No! I'm coming.” His voice was gruff, if not a little annoyed and confused by Connor’s impatience. 

 

Connor left, not looking to see if Hank was following. He studied the hall they were walking down. His dress shoes clicked against the black and white checkered tiles, those that were intact, anyway. The wallpaper was mostly peeled off after years of wear and tear. Connor couldn’t pick out a pattern. 

 

It was silent, silent except for the clicks of their shoes. As Connor surveyed the broken ceiling, he asked, “So what do we know about this guy?”

 

A beat passed, then Hank’s voice came from beside him. “Not much,” he said. Disappointment colored his voice. “Just that a neighbor heard strange noises coming from this floor.” 

 

Connor heard Hank come to a stop and the shuffling of clothes as he bent over. He turned as Hank continued, “Nobody’s supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw the man hide a LED under his cap.” 

 

Connor nodded as Hank studied the pile of debris in front of him. If he had to guess, it looked like… feathers. 

 

Who knows what kind of animals could get into this old place, with holes in the walls and ceiling. 

 

Hank stood up and they walked to the door at the end of the hall together. There was relatively little information, but Amanda seemed to give them every android case they got. Who knew if there even was an android, it could’ve been fake.

 

“Christ,” Connor complained, “If we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise we’re going to need more cops! Could just be a weird cat or something.”

 

He leaned on the doorframe, body facing Hank, and raised his hand. He gave three hard raps on the door before letting it drop back to his side.

 

The two share a look, like  _ this is stupid.  _ Hank shrugged, rolling his broad shoulders and tilting his head.

 

He moved in front of the door and banged on it three times, like Connor but harder. This time, he demanded, “Anybody home?” Connor was glad he wasn’t on the other side of the door. Hank was designed for this work, and could be intimidating when he wanted to. 

 

There was a noise from behind the door, like something had fallen and then the sounds of footsteps. Connor raised his eyebrows at Hank, who briefly met his eyes before barking, “Open up! Detroit police!” 

 

More thuds from inside, this time louder. Like footsteps running across the place. Connor grabbed his gun from his holster wrapped around his chest and held it low, switching the safety off. He nodded to Hank and said, “Stay behind me.”

 

Hank obliged, stepping in Connor’s shadow. There wasn’t much he could do for the android, but at least he had a gun. The one thing Connor had that the perfect fucking machine didn’t.

 

Connor straightened up and kicked his leg out, bottom of his foot connecting with the old wood of the door that cracked under the force of him.

 

It busted open, slamming against the wall behind it. Dust circled around the frame. 

 

Connor’s instincts and training took over. He crept, gun ready in front of him and kicked a second door down to their right. No movement or signs of people in that room, so he moved on to the next. Hank would stop briefly in the rooms they passed, scanning for more in depth information, but right now Connor was more concerned with eliminating possible threats and protecting himself and Hank. 

 

The apartment was in multiple stages of decay, very much like the hall outside. The wood floors were broken, and looked like something had been eating away at it for years. Trash littered the floor. 

 

Connor surveyed the room in front of him before moving to the hall to his left. There was a smaller door, which he opened to find a bathroom, and another door directly in front of him. 

 

Again, he jerked his leg forward, knocking the door open. Three dark shapes came flying towards his face. Connor scrambled, raising his arms to protect himself, almost shooting his gun on accident.

 

Connor looked ahead at the open room. His jaw dropped when he saw what was inside. 

 

Hundreds of fucking  _ pigeons. _

 

He turned to Hank, whose jaw was locked as he gritted his teeth. He asked, “You good?”

 

Hank gave a curt nod, so Connor moved on. 

 

Everywhere he tried to step, there would be a bird. They weren’t tiny, but he could get them to move as he continued walking. They covered the floor, the furniture, some even went in and out from open windows. 

 

“God, what the  _ fuck _ ?” Connor complained, pinching the bridge of his nose at the terrible stench that filled the room. 

 

“If God is real, I severely doubt he’s here.” Connor looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Did he just make a joke? He gave a small chuckle, but Hank’s face was tight.

 

He found a jacket laying on a wooden box. It looked relatively new, so Connor picked it up to inspect it. Hank moved closer and spotted writing on the inside. 

 

“R.T., probably initials.”

 

“He put his initials in his jacket?” Connor said with a snicker. “That’s something your mom does in third grade.”

 

Hank keeps studying the jacket and deadpanned, “Your experiences are not universal.”

 

Connor’s laugh deepens, shoulders shaking a little as he moves on to look at other evidence. 

 

He watched Hank move slowly towards a closet. It had two doors that opened away from each other. Hank ripped them open, releasing more birds into the room. 

 

Hank jumped at the sudden appearance of the pigeons. Connor stifled a laugh before it clicked in his head, Hank was afraid? How was that possible?

 

Hank turned, noticing Connor’s stares. “There’s… nothing.” His voice was quiet, low. Connor couldn’t discern his expression before he moved away. 

 

Connor continued walking around the room, but he wasn’t picking up on everything as fast as Hank did. He sighed, shaking his head. “I need some fresh air.”

 

He lowered his guard, shoving his pistol into his holster. No one was here, the noises were made by either the suspect leaving or the fucking birds.

 

He looked to Hank, watching as he moved methodically through the room. He stopped in front of a wall, LED going yellow.

 

Hank was staring at a large poster, some farming thing written in big green letters, before grasping the top corner between two fingers. He ripped it down in one clean motion, letting it fall to the floor. 

 

It covered a large, almost lightning bolt-like crack in the wall. From what Connor saw, it looked pretty deep. Hank grabbed something from the inside and heard the ruffling of paper.

 

“Found something?” He asked. 

 

Hank turned, flipping through what looked like a small, leatherbound journal. “I don’t know, it looks like a notebook… but it's indecipherable.”

 

“Ah,” Connor said. He saw the small, hexagonal mazes that wrapped around the words. Hank scanned his stormy eyes over the pages, but was picking up nothing. He pocketed it. 

 

Connor watched, arms crossed, as Hank looked over a counter. He held up a small card to Connor and said, “Driver’s licence: fake.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “Cool! At least we didn’t come here for nothin’.”

 

Connor wondered if they were sent on a goddamn wild goose chase, no sign of anyone, too many pigeons to count, and more of those symbols and codes drawn across the walls in a stark red. 

 

It was too fuckin’ weird.

 

Which meant it was either wildly fake or absolutely true. No inbetween.

 

Hank picked up a small box, a few pellets falling from an opening in the top. “Bird feed?” He mused. “The suspect cared for these animals.”

 

Connor bit back a smartass response, something like  _ no way, these birds just appeared on their own. _

 

He instead walked behind Hank, moving to the fridge. He opened it, surprised to find it completely barren. Not even a bottle of water. 

 

“Suspect didn’t eat,” Connor called. Hank hummed, letting Connor know he was listening. 

 

They both moved to the bathroom, walking side by side. It was small, so Connor stood in the doorway and let Hank do his thing. There was a lot of gross shit in the sink, but Hank swiped his fingers across the top and opened his mouth slightly. He stuck whatever nasty stuff was on the tips of his fingers to his tongue.

 

Connor wasn’t sure whether to blush or puke. “ _ Hank! _ ” He stomped his foot, getting the android’s attention. “That is  _ so _ disgusting.”

 

Hank looked at him, a little confused, and said, “Thirium.”

 

Connor nodded. Hank picked up something from the edge of the sink. It was small, round, and… familiar. 

 

“It’s LED,” Hank explained.

 

Connor shrugged, “Not surprised it was an android, no human could live with all these fuckin’ pigeons.”

 

Hank turned to look at the walls, Connor followed his gaze. RA9 was written all over the walls, obsessively. There were too many for Connor to count, the word was written big and small, over and over and over again. 

 

“Any idea what it means?” 

 

Hank’s LED dipped yellow. He scanned the walls quickly, eyes dipping over all the words. “RA9… written two-thousand, four-hundred, and seventy-one times. It’s the same sign Carlos Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall.” He paused, and shook his head. “Why are they obsessed with this sign? It makes no sense!”

 

Connor understood his frustration. “Nothing about this case makes sense, Hank.” He clapped him on the shoulder, in an attempt to comfort him. He realized that the android probably didn’t need nor understood what Connor did. But, he did feel Hank’s back relax a little. Connor let his hand linger and continued, thinking out loud, “They look like mazes or somethin’.”

 

Hank dropped his gaze to the floor, where a knocked over chair and open marker laid. The same red as the writings on the wall. Hank connected the dots first, reconstructing how he believed the android fell when Connor first knocked. 

 

Connor caught on, and followed him back into the living room. He was distracted though, by a shelf of books.

 

Because of course he was.

 

“Real books!” He exclaimed. He ran his hand across familiar, yet old titles. “Thought I was the last guy to keep some. Electronic books… you can’t smell the paper,” he mused, flipping one open. He was recalling his own collection, a mere shelf, but it had his favorite novels. Some of them were over one-hundred years old, made in the nineteen-fifties, but he still read them when he had free time.

 

Not that he had much of that anymore.

 

Hank was staring at a dilapidated yellow armchair in the corner of the room. Connor shook his head, and continued, “See the pages turn yellow… you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

 

He watched Hank’s head tilt up as he looked at the hole in the ceiling. 

 

All at once, Connor understood.  _ Fuck! Why don’t they ever check ceilings? _

 

A large shape barrelled from that hole, landing on Hank with a  _ thud _ . It disturbed the birds around them, flying in masses around the room. Connor was unable to see the man until he was out the door. Hank got up, looking at Connor with a question in his eyes.

 

“Whaddaya waiting for?” Connor yelled, “Go!”

 

Hank took off, legs moving swiftly, powerful muscles tensing under his clothes. He was like a bloodhound, chasing it down the hall before Connor was out the door. 

 

There was a bang as the suspect knocked a steel shelving unit in Hank’s way, but Hank just braced his hands on the top and swung his legs over it. He saw Hank leap from one building to another as he ran to the elevator, slamming the button down. 

 

It was slow, too slow. It creaked and swayed, but Connor could care less if it fell. He just needed to get to Hank, and  _ soon.  _ Connor’s head swum, lightheadedness creeping on him.

 

As soon as it opened, Connor hit the ground running. He jumped into his cruiser, not bothering to buckle his seatbelt, and flipped on the blaring lights before stepping on the gas.

 

Hank may be fast, but Connor knew this city like the back of his hand. The suspect would run where he could easily lose Hank. 

 

Connor saw how he looked towards a set of buildings as he ran, the perfect escape.

 

He got there in time to see Hank slide down a slanted glass building, jumping at the last moment. He flew through the air and landed on a moving train, one knee to the roof of the machine with a loud clang. It was like a scene out of a goddamn action movie. Connor’s heart froze in his chest as he watched, fearing for his partner.

 

Connor ran up the building, still watching as Hank lept from the train onto a ladder. He was effortless as he climbed it. 

 

He catches Hank’s expression. There is no fear, no tiredness, just calm and calculating, deciding his next move. Connor made it to the terrace where he guessed they’d be headed to. There’s a section of corn before him, the building being used for farming, and he can hear rustling as the deviant comes running. 

 

Connor clicked the safety of his gun off, not even remembering bringing it out, but didn’t expect how fast their perp came bolting from the corn. He was tall, wearing a dark jacket and cap like the neighbor who had called him in had warned. 

 

Connor wasn’t fast enough. Neither was Hank, who still wasn’t near. 

 

His body moved sluggishly, arms fighting to stay up. His stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself as Connor tried to aim his shaking hands on the running android.

 

Connor squeezed the trigger with a  _ BANG _ , but the deviant dodged the shot easily and knocked the gun out of Connor’s hands. He was strong, too strong. 

 

He easily subdued Connor with two hands around his neck. He squeezed. And squeezed. And  _ squeezed. _

 

Connor felt his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes felt like they may pop out of his head as his mouth opened in a silent scream, air unable to pass by the androids crushing hands. His feet were lifted from the ground, toes barely brushing against the concrete.

 

Hank finally passed through the corn barrier, eyes widening in realization. 

 

The android noticed him, fingers letting up on the pressure. Connor gasped as he let up, but the relief wasn’t permanent.

 

The android threw Connor. 

 

He flew through the air for what felt like forever, landing and hitting the small edge hard. Pain blossomed in his side and arm.

 

He tumbled straight over the side of the building, unable to find purchase on the loose gravel. 

 

One hand on caught the hard edge.

 

There he dangled, a few stories above the hard ground below him. He was dead, so fucking dead, but he couldn’t even scream. His throat still burned as tears ran down his face. 

 

He was royally fucked. 

 

His hand started to slip, unable to support his body. His fingers felt so weak. Connor tried desperately to regain his hold but failed.

 

He wheezed out one word as his hand scraped against the stone, “ _ Hank- _ ” A last ditch effort. His dying words.

 

His fingers lost against the pull of gravity. His stomach rose to his throat as he started to fall, feet kicking uselessly against the building. He felt his nails rake against the rough bricks.

 

Two hands shot over the edge of the roof, grabbing Connor’s own. It hurt, almost pulling his arm from the socket, but that was nothing compared to the ground below him.

 

_ Hank. _

 

He was pulled slowly up, until he could scramble over onto the ground. Hank shifted his arms until he was hauling Connor up by the shoulders, putting him safely on all fours. 

 

“ _ Shit! _ ” he yelled, breath escaping him. “ _ Fuck!” _

 

His chest heaved as he tried to breathe but it wasn’t working. Half-formed thoughts passed in and out of his mind, not helping his state. His heart pounded a tattoo onto his chest, almost painful. He felt like he was dying.

 

His neck still throbbed, it felt like the android’s fingers were still around his neck. It was impossible, but it felt so  _ fucking real. _

 

He tried to suck in a breath, but all he could do was gasp. The ground spun below him, black creeping up on the edges of his vision. 

 

His body sagged, arms threatening to give out from under him. Tears dropped into a wet puddle below him. He wanted to get up, run far away, do  _ something _ , but all Connor could do was gasp and tremble. 

 

He was dizzy, he felt like he may pass out and float away. He needed something, he needed grounding. He needed to feel like he was on solid earth. Connor heaved, stomach clenching. Nothing came up.

 

Hands touched his shoulders, steady and firm. 

 

Connor jumped and his body tensed. They let up momentarily, hesitant.

 

But, he knew those hands.

 

_ Hank. _

 

They kneaded into him, fingertips pressing into his collar bone, thumbs on his shoulder blades. His presence was comforting, Connor feeling protected as long as Hank was nearby. 

 

Hank saved him.

 

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, still gasping through his mouth as Hank’s hands left his body. Connor shrunk in on himself, wanting those hands back but unable to move.

 

Hank walked in front on him, kneeling on the ground. His arms wrapped around him, under his arms, pulling him up.

 

His arms were strong, his body warm. Connor dug his fingers into the back of his jacket, holding on like if he let go he may fall to oblivion. He pressed his face into Hank’s shoulder, breathing in Hank’s scent of utter nothingness.

 

Connor shook and heaved. The panic wasn’t ebbing. It scared Connor more.

 

He hated being vulnerable.

 

“Focus on my breathing,” Hank murmured. His chest was slowly rising and falling under Connor, breath whispers against his head.

 

Connor tried to match his breathing to Hank’s under him. It took a few tries, but soon the world wasn’t spinning when Connor opened his eyes. 

 

He could see Hank’s chest from where his nose was pressed on his collar bone. Hank didn’t let go, not even when Connor wasn’t gasping and wiped away his tears. 

 

Finally, he gently pushed away from Hank, rising on two unsteady legs. Hank swiftly rose and held an arm out, which Connor took gratefully. 

 

He looked at Hank, expecting disappointment, or maybe disgust. No one had watched him have one of his episodes in a very long time. 

 

He felt himself go red.

 

But, Hank was just looking at him, studying him like usual. He even offered Connor a small nod and smile. Connor took a deep breath, returning it. A silent thank you.

 

Connor felt better until he looked around. The realization that the deviant was gone and that is was  _ his _ fault hit him like a truck. Panic started bubbling back up in his chest.

 

“Fuck!” He yelled, startling Hank a little. “We almost had him!”

 

Hank lowered his head, “It’s my fault, should’ve been faster.”

 

Connor stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’d’ve caught him if it weren’t for me!”

 

Hank’s eyes softened and he reached out, squeezing Connor’s arm. Connor turned and walked away, not wanting Hank to see the shame on his face or hear his pity.

 

Before he was gone, Connor turned. “Hey Hank?”

 

A million words scattered around his mind. Hank fixed him with those calculating grey eyes, pretty yet scary, as he tried to find one sentence. 

 

_ Thank you, you’re amazing, I'm so sorry, I fucked up, this isn’t your fault, I can’t believe myself, thank you so much, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I- _

 

“It’s nothing,” Connor said with a small smile and a wave of his hand. Hank tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “Just- thank you.”

 

He turned on a heel and walked off, deciding to wait for Hank in the cruiser. 

 

Hank didn’t join him for a long time.


	5. RUSSIAN ROULETTE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes a big mistake. Luckily, Hank is just as stubborn as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. This chapter is a whole bunch of angst.
> 
> Warnings for: suicide, drugs (pills), alcohol, EDs/food, and a death by gunshot (not connor, promise)
> 
> Please, if anyone reads this and finds themselves identifying with Connor, or is struggling with tough stuff, like or unlike this, seek help. People care, I care. 
> 
> ALSO: please don't do what Hank does. If someone overdoses for the love of God take them to a hospital.
> 
> Take care loves.

Connor was finally alone. Truly, utterly, completely alone. 

 

Whether that was good or bad, he didn’t know. 

 

On one hand, no more prying eyes, disappointed voices asking where the suspect had gone. Connor had begged,  _ begged _ , Hank not to tell anyone about what happened. He remembered his eyes were wet with tears, lips trembling at the fear of Amanda’s disappointment of this being his fault. Hank had only nodded, understanding, reassuring him his secret was safe. 

 

_ Safe _ .

 

He was safe with Hank. Strong arms holding him together and everyone else back. He saved him over and over again, it was… pathetic. 

 

The only thing to show him compassion was an android. 

 

It was pathetic. Connor knew it. 

 

So unworthy of, yet desperate for love, he took whatever he could get. Even if it was soft, kind, preprogrammed words or a hug from a machine.

 

A very handsome and kind machine, but a machine nonetheless. 

 

He didn’t even have Hank now.

 

_ Alone.  _

 

Connor was sitting at his kitchen table. It was mostly barren, like the rest of his house. His brother used to live here, once, very long ago. It was nicer then, well-decorated and color coordinated to his liking. Connor cleaned all of his stuff out once he was gone. He never bothered to redecorate. 

 

Couldn’t bring himself to. 

 

He stared at the grains in the light wood, memorizing its shifting and swirling patterns. There were scratches from where Sumo had jumped on it. They weren’t deep, just surface-level knicks that blending with the wood. 

 

Sumo was asleep, far as Connor knew, in another room. Not even his dog would give a shit. 

 

Typical. 

 

So fucking typical of his life. 

 

Connor didn’t understand why he was so angry. It bubbled, no  _ boiled _ , up in his chest, hot and painful. He was mad at himself, his too-perfect partner, his family who he hadn’t really seen in years. He was mad at the criminals who made the world fucked, but angrier at himself for not being able to stop it. He clenched his jaw so hard he feared his head may pop.

 

In one hand he held a bottle of alcohol, bitter and harsh whiskey. The reflection glowed copper against the table from the light that hung above, liquid sloshing in his unsteady hand. 

 

In the other hand he loosely gripped that bottle of pills he bought at that food stand. It was open, after much struggling, and a few of the oblong white pills spilling onto the table. 

 

Sleeping pills. 

 

They were meant for people with insomnia or other problems, only prescribed. Connor had no time for doctors. Knew they would never prescribe him them anyways, too at risk with his other addictions and suicidal tendencies. Guess they were right. 

 

Connor knew why he bought them, it was simple, really. He wanted to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. Forever.

 

He never wanted to open his eyes again. 

 

Even the little pangs in his heart as he remembered the few good things he had couldn’t stop his ache for sleep. His big dumb dog, loving and sweet, great for hugging and running with. His partner, his friend, Hank. His big grey eyes, his small smiles. It didn’t stop the growing numbness in his limbs. It started in his toes and fingers, moving up his body until it reached his brain. 

 

He felt fuzzy, not quite real. His body didn’t feel like his own, his mind floating outside it as he watched his body move. 

 

He didn’t remember lifting one arm, then the other. Didn’t remember downing as many pills as he could manage, washing them down with whiskey that he couldn’t taste, and repeating it. 

 

He certainly didn’t recall shutting his eyes, nor falling from his chair. Didn’t recognize the shattering of glass as the whiskey fell from his hand to the floor. 

 

Didn’t hear Sumo’s whimpers, or his nervous padding at the feet of his owner who now laid on the floor. 

 

Connor’s consciousness slipped from his reach.  _ Finally,  _ was the only thing he could muster before his lights were out, escaping from between his fingers. 

 

___

 

Connor heard voices in the background, murmuring his name, growing louder until it was yelling. There were so many sounds around him, he couldn’t decipher what was being said besides the occasional  _ Lieutenant  _ or  _ Connor _ . 

 

The voice was familiar, yet distant. Fuzzy. 

 

Connor couldn’t tell who it was, where he was, or what was going on. 

 

Everything was a haze inside his mind. He couldn’t remember. Whether it was because of the drugs, or the blocks he liked to put up, _he_ _couldn’t_ _remember_.

 

That is until pain shot up his face, ripping his eyes open. The light was  _ blinding _ , white and hot. It took a solid minute for him to adjust, finally noticing the face hovering near his own. Bushy eyebrows furrowed over steely grey eyes, silver hair falling precariously from where it seemed to be tied behind his head. 

 

This definitely wasn’t the afterlife, unless Connor’s personal Hell was filled with dilfs and headaches. 

 

_ Shit! _

 

Connor’s eyes widened. He knew that man.

 

Hank.

 

Hank was hovering over him, saying things his ears couldn’t yet process. He registered a hand on his face, soft and warm. His head lolled to the side, into that warmth. He didn’t fight against his eyes falling shut once again. It felt so nice. And he was so, so tired. 

 

That is until there was another swift crack against his head. That warm hand had betrayed him and he sucked a breath in.

 

He could hear Hank now, some of the fluff clearing from his head, “It’s me, Connor. Stay awake.” His voice was stretched thin, on the edge of breaking. 

 

Connor didn’t understand, didn’t remember.

 

He was hoisted by one arm off the floor, too weak to fight, but still mumbled complaints. They fell flat against his thick tongue. He was now halfway in Hank’s lap as he tried to hold Connor without dropping him.

 

Connor watched as his head was pulled away from a pile of puke on the ground.  _ His _ puke. 

 

“I’m going to sober you up. For your own safety.” Connor’s arm was around Hank’s broad back as Hank’s own was looped under his arms. His body was warmer, softer than the floor. But Connor didn’t want to move, he wanted to lay their. Let his body sink into the floor. 

 

All Connor could manage was a loud, “HEY!” He wasn’t processing what was going on, what had happened. All he could think about was he wanted to sleep and Hank  _ wouldn’t fucking let him.  _ The deep fatigue pulled at his body, making him a ragdoll as Hank maneuvered beside him. 

 

Hank slid an arm under his knees, grunting, “I’m going to warn you, this may be unpleasant.”

 

Meanwhile, Connor was yelling, “Leave m’alone ya’ fuckin’ asshole!”

 

Connor’s head spun, he weakly swatted at Hank’s back as he was lifted fully off the ground. The ceiling moved closer to his head, disorientating him. He felt like he may be sick, but he still fought, stubbornness at Hank’s insistence. “Getthe fuck offa’ me,” he slurred, head coming to rest on Hank’s shoulder. 

 

Hank continued moving, mumbling something about, “-lighter than I thought,” before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, but I need you. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.” He didn’t sound apologetic, more like a telemarketer on the other end of a spam call. 

 

“ _ Get th’fuck outta’ here! _ ” Connor cried, before grunting, arm hitting a wall as Hank carried on down the hall. He was suddenly very lightheaded, stomach churning painfully. “Sumo! Attack!”

 

Sumo gave a content  _ boof  _ from the next room over, not the terrifying bark of a guard dog. He didn’t even move. Connor smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “Good doggie…” 

 

Hank jostled the frail man in his arms, trying to budge the door open. The bathroom was simple, like the rest of the house. A simple toilet and bath, a little dirty, worn clothes laying discarded on the floor. Colorful Post-It Notes covered the mirror, with words of encouragement like “I’m not GRUMPY, I just don’t like YOU” and “Keep smiling!” 

 

“Fuck, I think ‘m gonna be sick,” Connor yelped, voice cracking. He held his stomach, hoping it’d hold back the contents of it from spilling out. It was truly in turmoil now, threatening to rise to his throat at any moment. 

 

Hank decided that would be the best time to set him down, feet on the floor first, then ass on the edge of the tub. 

 

Connor giggled to himself, “No, no, I don’ wanna bath, thank ya’.” He tried to stand, but was just pushed back in by a firm hand to the chest. He fell backwards, into the tub itself. His bare legs hung out of it, arms were thrown beside him.

 

Hank shook his head, reaching for the knobs on the side of the tub. “Sorry, Connor, it’s for your own good.” He kept his hand on his chest, to make sure Connor didn’t try to stand again. Connor struggled against him, but wasn’t successful. 

 

With a flick of his wrist, cold water flowed from the shower head above. Hank pulled his arm away before the water hit the tub. 

 

Connor screamed first, a shrill shriek as he writhed in the tub. “Turn it off! Turn-  _ Turn it off! _ ” 

 

After a moment more of Connor’s agonized pleas, over fucking  _ water,  _ of all things, Hank turned the shower off. Connor sighed in relief, tension leaving his body. 

 

His thoughts cleared, and everything crashed down on him at once. He thought about a hundred different things,  _ it didn’t work, how am I in the bathroom, where are my pills, it didn’t work, I’m so fucked, Hank- _

 

Connor’s head snapped up, narrowing his eyes at him. He stood in front of Connor, surveying him. Connor’s embarrassment grew as he realized his was in a wet, alcohol-stained t-shirt and boxers. He hissed through clenched teeth and asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Of course, he knew why they were in the bathroom, he remembered waking up. But why was Hank  _ here _ ? In his house?

 

Hank composed himself, standing up a little straighter and fixing his tie as he answered, “A homicide was reported forty-three minutes ago. I couldn’t find you at the precinct, so I came to see if you were home.” 

 

Of course. Work. It never stopped, did it? 

 

Connor could never catch a fucking break. 

 

He sighed, looking over himself. He was right about his clothes, but he hadn’t remembered the bruises that peppered his arm from the fight earlier, or from when he fell after passing out. They were disgusting, various shades of blue, purple, and yellow.

 

“Jesus,” he hissed, nausea hitting him hard. “I must be the only cop in the world who gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin’ android.” He shifted, pulling himself back onto the edge of the tub. It hurt, God, did it hurt. His ribs and stomach  _ ached _ , one sharp, one dull. Not a pleasant mixture. His legs were on fire, his arms still weak. 

 

And his  _ head.  _ A migraine was quickly approaching. He held his head almost between his knees, trying to fend everything off. It was too much. 

 

And Hank was just  _ standing  _ there. Watching, waiting. 

 

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Connor couldn’t find it in him to sound angry, hurt his head too much. He just sounded tired instead. 

 

A look of concern flashed across his face, LED a stuttering yellow. “You seem to have… personal issues, Connor. You should consult a professional who can help you.” The prick had the audacity to sound optimistic for Connor’s mental health and wellbeing. 

 

Now Connor sounded angry, a growl making its way up his throat. “Beat it! Ya’ hear me? Get the  _ hell  _ out of here!” 

 

Why was he angry? Who was he angry at? Connor knew the answers to both of these questions,  _ himself _ . 

 

Hank didn’t move, just kept watching him. 

 

Connor didn’t know what he wanted to do, nor could do, but he shot up on two unsteady legs. His head immediately swam at the movement, eyes going dark. He stumbled. His legs were crumbling, his body falling. 

 

But, there Hank was. His hands shot out, steadying Connor by the hips, leaving burning trails in their wake as Connor sat back down. Connor’s face was red, he was a mess. No, he was a goddamn  _ disaster.  _

 

He didn’t deserve Hank. 

 

He didn’t deserve to fucking wake up. 

 

He had won- no, lost- his little game of russian roulette. Winning, losing, both, neither. Wouldn’t have mattered if he was gone.

 

Hank turned, away from Connor. It was a slow turn, on the balls of his feet. Connor’s heart fell. Android or not, he probably just pushed away the last thing that care about him. Great.

 

Without looking back at Connor, Hank said, “I understand, the case probably wasn’t interesting anyway.”

 

Connor’s eyes snapped up. He looked in the mirror so he could see Hank’s face. The bastard was  _ smirking.  _ He couldn’t handle this.

 

“A man found dead in a sex club downtown? Guess they’ll have to solve the case without us…” 

 

“Gee, glad to see you think so lowly of me,” Connor deadpanned, frowning. 

 

Hank snorted and continued, “Plus, I could use your assistance with the case, Connor.”

 

Connor sighed, unable to say to no to that. No matter how ragged and sick, he had a job to do and by god was he going to do it.

 

“You know, it probably wouldn’t do me any harm to get some air.”

 

Hank’s smirk didn’t falter. He gave Connor an over-exaggerated wink through the mirror.  _ Goddamn androids. _

 

Connor was about to say something smart, but pain shot up his midsection. His whole stomach felt like it was cramping and he doubled over, gripping his waist with a gasp. “... There are some clothes in the bedroom.” His voice was weak, barely a whimper.

 

Hank nodded, “I'll go get them.”

 

Once Hank had left the room, Connor fell to his knees on the cold tiles. The pain was  _ unbearable _ . He felt like his insides were on fire, and his unresponsive limbs weren’t helping.

 

He managed to drag himself to the toilet, dreading what would come next.

 

“What do you want to wear?” Hank yelled from a couple of rooms over. 

 

“Whatever,” was Connor’s response. His voice echoed off the toilet bowl. Honestly, as long as he had some clean pants Connor would wear a goddamn clown suit. 

 

Nausea clawed at his throat. Pure liquid spewed from his mouth. He choked and coughed, trying to push it back down, but his violently contracting stomach made sure everything came out. 

 

His face dripped with water, sweat, and tears. Bile dribbled from his lips as he held onto the seat with white knuckles. 

 

He felt better, a momentary relief. 

 

Hank’s footsteps neared the doorway. Connor dried his mouth on the back of his hand, almost gagging at the smell. 

 

“Are you alright?” Hank asked. He held a small stack of clothes in his arms.

 

“Yeah… yeah,” Connor tried to move, to grab the clothes but can only sit there. The room spun before his eyes. His nausea returned. “Just- just give me five minutes. Okay?”

 

“Sure.” Hank shut the door on his way out with a soft click. 

 

Thank god he didn’t argue this time, Connor may have just fallen over from the exertion.

 

He tried to stand, getting up on one knee first, then another. But, he only succeeded in wobbling and falling back over. His head was so fucking messed up. Eyes half lidded, he tried to maneuver the spinning room.

 

His stomach churned and Connor lurched for the toilet once again. He coughed up more liquid, unsure if he even had food in his system anymore. Loud groans were ripped from his throat, his body felt like it had seized all at once.

 

He flushed the toilet.

 

Connor scooted himself towards the counter and pulled the clothes down to his lap. He shouldn’t try to stand yet, but they had places to be.

 

He went over his options in his head. One: try to stand and put on clothes, may fall over and puke more. That’d take too long. Two: wait a minute, calm down, the put clothes on. May have the  same results as option one.

 

There was a third option, Connor just didn’t want to think about it.

 

That is, until Hank’s name was on the tip of his tongue. He was ashamed, a thirty year old man needing to be taken care of. 

 

Again,  _ pathetic. _

 

Still, Connor winced and yelled, “Hank? I- I need some help.”

 

After a few moments, most of which Connor spent holding his throbbing head, the door cracked open. Hank slid in and shut the door behind him, no doubt fending off Sumo from attacking Connor.

 

Connor was sat, cross-legged, on the floor still. His body trembled, Hank could see it in his back, his legs, his arms. He’d managed to grab the outfit, but not put it on yet.

 

Hank’s LED spun yellow, analyzing the situation. 

 

Connor waited, not meeting his eyes.

 

Finally, Hank moved. He kneeled in front of Connor and tugged at the bottom of his once-white shirt. Connor lifted his arms the best he could as Hank removed it and discarded it amongst the other piles of dirty clothes.

 

Connor’s cheeks burned as Hank’s LED spun a frantic yellow as he looked at Connor’s bare chest. 

 

He was… well muscled. In a sense. They were there, and Connor was definitely fit from years of exercise and police work. But, they couldn’t hide his ribs, too pronounced, or his waist with sharp hip bones. Small thin scars ran right above his ribs, one for each part of the surgery. No one was supposed to see them, no one was supposed to know. He hadn’t told anyone he was trans in years. He fought Amanda to keep his records clear of it. 

 

Would an android care? Could they hate people like him, like most humans could?

 

He didn’t know what was worse, the his skin and bones or the deep, dark bruises that covered one side of him. They painted a muddled picture across his side, his arm, his shoulder. Connor bit his lip, fighting the urge to cover himself with his dirty shirt.

 

But Hank’s eyes left as easily as they came, and soon he was helping Connor button his shirt, fingers large but nimble. It was a loud shirt, dark blue with long, seemingly random, white stripes.

 

Hank’s hands were gentle on him, not lingering too long, but giving Connor small gestures of affection as he helped. Things like a circle traced into his skin, or a squeeze with his large hand. It was strange, but he let it happen.

 

Maybe his fears were unfounded after all.

 

Soon enough, Connor’s pants were on without a hitch. He gained enough strength to tie his own shoes. If he were to retain some dignity, then he wouldn’t have Hank tying his shoes like a kindergarten teacher.

 

Hank stood up, slightly bent over with his hands at Connor’s sides as he waited for him. The man rose to his feet, a little wobbly, but not as dizzy or sick. Hank’s hands were still there, firm on his waist to make sure he didn’t fall. 

 

Connor shuffled out of the bathroom and back down the hall. Hank followed him closely until he hopped up on his counter, legs swaying above the floor.

 

Hank perused his cabinets first. Connor watched as he flipped through mostly empty spaces, only a half-loaf of bread and some dishes. His fridge wasn’t much better, most food expired or nonexistent altogether. 

 

He shook his head at Connor, still going through the drawers in the fridge, “Why don’t you have any food?”

 

Connor shrugged, “Don't have time to shop, I eat out mostly.”

 

Grocery shopping was something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. Sure, he picked up things here and there but shopping was what he always did with his brother, and once he was gone Connor didn’t have the motivation to do it anymore.

 

Hank pulled the loaf of bread from the cabinet and popped two slices in the toaster. It would be easy on his stomach and there weren’t many other options.

 

With heavy pants, Sumo came prancing into the room, happy to see Connor and their guest. He rubbed his back against Connor’s legs, leaving little white hairs all over his black pants. He couldn’t find it in him to care, chuckling and rubbing Sumo’s soft fur. 

 

Meanwhile, Hank had moved on to explore his house. He was a detective android, after all, it was what he did best. 

 

As he followed Hank with his eyes, he noticed the kitchen had been cleaned up. The chairs were back in place. The pills and alcohol were nowhere to be seen, probably disposed of. Anxiety and shame pulled at his chest, making his movements stutter. 

 

Connor knew didn’t deserve all of this help. He wondered why Hank even bothered and wanted to ask, too. 

 

Hank had a mission, fucking dude talked about it all the time.  _ Complete this  _ and  _ report that _ . It got to be annoying. 

 

Connor was impeding his mission, they both knew it. But Hank couldn’t stop and Connor needed him.

 

Not that Connor was much different, either.

 

Connor opened his mouth to say something the same time Hank turned, framed photo in hand. 

 

He didn’t have to look hard to recognize it, silver frame large and intricate. A gift from his mother, when they still talked. He spent a long time looking at it in the past.

 

It made him falter, half-formed words dying in his throat. 

 

It was of his family. 

 

His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were standing in the back, the woman looking severe as ever, eyes cold even as she smiled. Mr. Richard Anderson, from who Nines got his name, was a tall, hard man. His body was toned and large, but not the kind of large Hank was. It was the kind of large that made you uncomfortable as he towered over you. He didn’t smile. No wonder Nines refused to use his real name.

 

In the front of the picture, on the far left, stood Nines. He was wearing a black turtleneck under a pair of overalls, a small smile tilting his mouth up at the corners. His hands were behind his back. Next to him stood Connor, wearing an orange and white shirt, patterned with roses. He had a large, goofy smile on his face, laughing at something someone said. He couldn’t remember what now. 

 

And next to Connor stood Conrad. 

 

_ Conrad. _

 

His heart stopped.

 

Conrad, his twin. His other half. He looked almost identical to Connor in body shape and facial structure. His hair was even similar. But, his style was always more subdued, professional. 

 

Conrad, his old partner at the Detroit Police Department. They made a renowned pair, solving crimes at a rate that no one could compare to. They were famous, and he was the reason their drug-busting team worked so well. Amanda had been so proud of them.

 

Conrad, the name he tried so hard to forget. The man he spent most of his life with. His brother, ripped from Connor’s life three years ago.

 

Conrad, the detective shot in a bust gone wrong. Another name in the long list of cops who died on duty.

 

Hank pointed to them. “I didn’t know you all looked so alike.” 

 

Hank knew what happened to Conrad. Hank knew about his episodes in the few months following the death, he already admitted to knowing about the therapists. There were reports. Hank had no doubt read them all. 

 

But all he could comment on was their similarities.

 

“No shit,” Connor said, voice unsteady. He took a deep breath. “We are- were- brothers.”

 

Still hurt.

 

Three years. It still hurt. Maybe always would.

 

There was a mission they were sent on. It was supposed to be simple: get in, get intel, get out. There was a massive group of red ice traffickers, and Conrad had weaseled his way in. Undercover assignments had never made Connor uneasy, he had faith in their abilities.

 

But you know what they say, once you reach the top, the only way to continue is down. 

 

Connor was on the other end of his mic, listening and watching as Conrad sat through a meeting full of higher-ups. 

 

They knew there was a rat. But Connor thought the bosses didn’t know who. They were very secretive, only telling Conrad what they wanted him to know.

 

Boy, was Connor wrong. 

 

They had seen through his prosthetics, his fake limp, his accent. They found him out. 

 

They executed him.

 

A single shot to the forehead. 

 

Blood spattered the wall and floor around him, arcing in a circle behind his head. He fell, body hitting the floor with a dull thud. The loud gunshot, the sickening  _ thump _ , the screams of those around him, including his own. The sounds he would continue to hear years after, while he panicked, cried, and slept. His face had become pale, white as a sheet, stark against the small red hole in his forehead.

 

He’d see that face in his dreams, his  _ nightmares _ , often. It was so unreal, gory, and terrifying. Connor didn’t dare turn him around to inspect the exit wound.

 

It all happened so fast. There was nothing the team could do. 

 

Conrad was dead. Conrad was dead and Connor could do nothing about it. 

 

He managed to hold everything in until he was out of there, away from the people being arrested and the dead body.

 

_ His  _ dead body.

 

But, once that dam broke, it didn’t stop. 

 

Connor had cried, screamed, and tore himself to pieces. He ran himself ragged in the year after, going in case after case to avenge his brother’s death. 

 

Nines was hurt too, Connor knew it. He just hid it better.  _ Coped _ better.

 

Their parents blamed him for everything. But  _ god _ , if he had to think about them right then he’d have lost it completely.

 

Tears rolled down his face again. Hank was looking at him, confusion crossing his face, LED yellow. Then, he understood.

 

Not the best time to bring up Connor’s dead brother. 

 

Hank walked to him, closing the distance in a few swift steps. He placed a hand on Connor’s knee and Connor let his head fall to Hank’s chest.

 

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have brought up such a sensitive topic at this moment.”

 

Connor sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s… let’s just go, okay?”

 

Hank moved in time with Connor, backing up as he slid off the counter. On their way out, Hank picked up a plate of toast. It had gone cold, but Connor appreciated the gesture. He hadn’t even noticed the toaster going off while he reminisced. 

 

Connor slid on a pair of sunglasses and his brown overcoat, running his thumb over the soft, elastic cuffs at the end of the arms. Hank walked him out, and Connor gave one last goodbye to Sumo. 

 

They got into the car, Connor in the driver’s seat, Hank next to him. He let Hank input the address and set the car to self-driving.

 

Connor was glad it was night, even happier he grabbed his sunglasses to dim the bright neon lights of the city. 

 

His head felt like it may explode. Connor half-wished it would, just to relieve some pressure if nothing else.

 

But mostly, he was glad to have Hank with him. His presence was calming, constant, allowing him to recharge before they put on their hard facades to investigate this crime. 

 

Hank said nothing, but looked to Connor every few minutes. He didn’t hide it, glances blunt like everything else he did. 

 

A steady blue filled the car as Connor watched the city pass before his eyes. Buildings, posters, people, they were all blurs against his tired eyes.

 

His body thrummed with the engine of the car.


	6. EDEN CLUB.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank go to a strip club for an investigation. They both end up with busted faces and a lower morale. Will Hank truly do what it takes to solve this case?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a later update than usual. All of you commenting make me day, I hope you know. I'm working hard on finishing this and I'm now planning the sequel!
> 
> Warnings for: dead bodies, violence/blood, and mild nudity (it's a strip club)

The car stopped outside of a flashy club, all neon lights and moving pictures. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny either, nestled between two larger buildings. Bright signs flashed warm, pinks and reds along with half-nude androids. 

 

One sign just outside the building read “Eden Club” in big bold letters. The ‘E’ at the start of ‘Eden’ had a devil’s tail rise from the left corner. 

 

Connor shook his head slightly and groaned, raising a hand to rub his temples. His head pulsed with the faint bassy rhythms he could hear from inside the club and feel deep in his chest. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the shooting pains the lights caused in his eyes. “It feels like someone’s playing with a drill inside my skull.” 

 

Hank just stared at him, probably trying to compute what that could mean.

 

For a smart android he could be pretty dumb, but it was kind of endearing. Kind of like a little kid who didn’t understand how to  _ not _ take things literally.

 

Connor’s stomach flipped. “You sure this is the place?”

 

Hank turned to look at the building, a soft pink light then covering his face. It made him look like a goddamn painting, strokes of pinks highlighting his cheekbones and a deeper violet tinting the shadows closer to his jaw and through his beard. His eyes glinted with color as he said, “It’s the address in the report.”

 

“Right…” Connor sighed, leaning farther back into his chair. The leather groaned in protest. He wished he could could shut his eyes and fall asleep right there, but he didn’t think Hank would be too happy with that. 

 

So, against all the objections of his tired body, Connor said, “Let’s get going.” 

 

Connor threw open the door and hauled himself up with his hands gripping the door frame. In his haste, he smacked his forehead on the roof of the car. It rattled his head and he about crumpled to the ground, pain stabbing him behind the eyes. “Jesus-”

 

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before he walked to the officer in duty. The glowing, yellow holographic tape that covered the entrance lit up him and the ground in a gold hue, mixing with the pinks to create a gentle orange.

 

He heard a car door shut, signalling that Hank was finally joining him. He waited until the familiar frame of his android was beside him before flashing his badge. The officer glanced at it and nodded, letting the two through with a wave of his arm.

 

Connor groaned. The inside of the Eden Club was so much worse than the outside.

 

The entrance hall had two, long walls made of screens that overlaid changing images with words. At the time they entered, a pair of women’s legs lazily kicked in the air, flushing the room in pinks and purples. Connor squinted his eyes at the cursive words that flowed across the screen.

 

“Sexiest androids in town,” Connor read. “Now I know why you wanted to come here.” 

 

He turned to give Hank a sly smile, but Hank just frowned at him. Connor nudged his bicep with his elbow, trying to get a better response from Hank. Hank shot him a look that bordered on annoyed and snorted at Connor’s responding  _ hmph. _

 

Connor turned and muttered an, “oh boy,” before they walked through the big glass doors to the main rooms that held all the people and androids. 

 

A women’s low voice called, “Welcome to Eden Club.” It attempted to sound sultry, but it bordered on creepy to Connor.

 

The first room had bright white floors that seemed to be made of lightbulbs. It was painful for Connor to look at, sunglasses barely helping anymore. Along the walls were androids locked up behind glass cases. They had room to move and look around, but it made his stomach turn. They looked like dolls, and people probably treated them like that, too. He crinkled his nose and tried to ignore the scantily clad people. 

 

It didn’t sit right with him.

 

Not at all. 

 

Connor continued on to the next room. There were more flashing lights coming from every direction. Two androids danced on spinning poles in the middle of the room, heels clacking on the platforms. They flashed seductive smiles to Connor and Hank before turning to drop and dance for a couple of customers. 

 

Connor scanned the room for anyone he knew from the DPD, and was relieved to see Ben discussing something with another man. As he approached, he could make out the man asking, “You aren’t going to take my license, are ya’?” 

 

Must have been the owner, worried about what would happen after the crime scene closed. He looked like a weasel, a real scumbag, through and through. 

 

Ben turned, arms crossed in front of him. His eyes lit up when he saw the two approaching. “Oh! Connor!’ 

 

Connor nodded at him, “Hey, Ben. Where’s it at?” 

 

Ben moved, revealing a door behind him that read OCCUPIED in scarlet letters. “That room there.”

 

Connor raised his hand to the hand scanner, poised to unlock the door.

 

“Oh! By the way- Nines in there too.”

 

Connor stopped, hand paused over the pad to open the door. He sighed, headache growing as he clenched his jaw. “Oh great,” he bit out, . “Just what I needed, dead body and an asshole.” 

 

Hank’s hand fell lightly on his shoulder, giving Connor the strength to open the door. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch as Hank pulled away.

 

The room was small, a single, circular bed set up in the middle of it. The walls were made of more screens, covering the room in reds. A lifeless android laid, limbs splayed out under her, on the floor next to a small alcove with a toilet. She was a common model, seen replicated many times out in the rest of the club. She had a loose bob of brown hair. Thirium leaked from her nose and mouth, running down her face in fading blue rivulets. It stained her otherwise perfect face, frozen in a look of horror that she held as she shut down. 

 

The man they were there to search was lifeless on the bed, red blanket pulled over his middle to give him some decency. He wasn’t as remarkable, no blood or obvious signs of death that he could see from where he stood.

 

Chris, one of the friendlier officers at the precinct, took notes by the dead body, little notepad flipped open. He didn’t pay the two newcomers much attention. Nines stood closer to the middle of the room, arms crossed as his hawk-like eyes roved over everything. They started on the android, then moved to the man with a frown. Cold just  _ oozed  _ off of him. 

 

Nines turned at the sound of the door opening. He fixed his eyes on Connor, giving him a curt nod before spitting, “Lieutenant.” He paused, not even acknowledging Hank. “What are you doing here?” His voice was monotonous, a little deeper than Connor’s own. Where Connor wore his expressions on his sleeve and expressed them in his words, Nines was always closed off.

 

Hank spoke up, “We’ve been assigned all cases involving androids.” 

 

“Yeah?” Nine’s lips curled into a half-snarl that faded as soon as it happened. His face fell to a more annoyed expression, lips pursed. “Well, you’re wasting your time.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Hank asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. 

 

Nines glanced at the body then back towards the pair. He smirked, saying, “Seems he may have… bitten off more than he could chew.”

 

“Well,” Connor interjected, “We’ll have a look anyway- if you don’t mind.” He gave Nine’s a smile so fake it hurt his cheeks. 

 

Nines made a dismissive sound and turned to the other detective. “Let’s leave. Let the lieutenant and his guard dog investigate a heart attack.” He turned on one heel and strode out, knocking his shoulder against Connor’s as he barged past. 

 

Connor’s face flushed red as he grit his teeth. It took all of his restraint to not chase after Nines and give him a piece of his mind.

 

The other officer started to move, then stopped. He gave a small wave and said, “ ‘Night, lieutenant.” He left after that, not shoulder-checking Connor like a normal person. 

 

Connor took a deep breath, sliding his sunglasses off so he could rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He needed more Advil.

 

A lot more Advil. 

 

Hank moved from behind him, taking purposeful steps towards the dead man laying on the bed. His eyes scanned over the body, starting at his bare chest and moving up slowly to his face. Connor let his eyes linger on the man’s upper half. There were marks, not unlike his own, running across his neck. He wondered if their victim was just one kinky fucker or if it was more than autoerotic asphyxiation.

 

He rubbed his eyes again from under his large-framed sunglasses.

 

His eyes were drawn elsewhere as Hank straightened himself out, turning towards Connor. His LED flickered yellow and he paused, processing, Connor realized. 

 

Hank said, “He didn’t die of a heart attack. He was strangled.” 

 

Connor absentmindedly raised a hand to his own neck, brushing his fingers across his skin. “Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck.” He paused, thinking. “Doesn’t prove anything though, could’ve been rough play.” 

 

Hank narrowed his eyes a little at the comment. Connor was amused to note that the android was confused at the concept.

 

Hank promptly turned on one heel and moved to the dead android. Connor followed closely, standing a little to his side. Poor girl, forced into this job then beat to death. 

 

Hank crouched and studied her face for a moment before he raised to fingers to swipe at the blue blood that leaked from her face. He opened his lips a little and dipped his fingers slowly into his mouth.

 

“Woah- woah! Hey!” No response from the android. He swatted at his shoulder. “Hank you are  _ so  _ disgusting. I think I may puke again.” 

 

Hank still ignored his complaints and touched where her LED would’ve been, if she was still functioning. It was gone now, only a faint outline where the component would’ve been. The skin disappeared from Hank’s hand, the white skeleton that really made him up making an appearance for the first time that night. He touched his fingers to her temple and waited a moment before removing them.

 

Hank shook his head.

 

“No luck?” 

 

“The only way to access its memories is to reactivate it.” The skin reformed over his hand as he moved it down to her exposed stomach. This time, her skin retracted and Hank popped open a hatch in her stomach.

 

All she was made up of was wires. Connor didn’t know whether he should feel grossed out because he was looking at some android’s guts or not, since it was just machinery. 

 

“Think you can do it?” Connor asked, deciding to train his eyes on Hank instead of the dead girl. He watched his shoulders flex and tense as he moved his arms. He had such a  _ broad  _ frame, it was easy to focus on.

 

“It’s badly damaged.” Hank let out a small huff, “If I can, it’ll be for a minute, maybe less.”

 

He pulled two large cable-looking tubes topped with thicker black casings from her stomach. He sighed, voice a little softer, “I just hope it’s long enough to learn something.” 

 

He snapped the two together with a  _ click _ .

 

Hank fell backwards as the girl shot up. She looked around with wild eyes as her chest heaved. She was sucking in large gulps of air and crawling away from the two of them, only stopping when she backed into the wall. Hank moved slowly, crouching at a safe distance away from her. Connor decided it’d be best to stay back, let Hank handle the reanimated girl.

 

Hank’s voice was soft, a little gravelly as he spoke, “You were damaged and I reactivated you.” He paused, letting her take it in. “Everything is alright.” 

 

She glanced at the dead man. Her lip quivered as she spoke, “Is he… is he dead?”

 

Hank nodded. “Tell me what happened.” His voice wasn’t demanding like Connor knew it could be. He was being gentle with her, something Connor appreciated. 

 

“He started hitting me… again and again.” She shuddered and her LED flickered between yellow and red. 

 

“Did you kill him?”

 

Her head shot up, “No- no! It wasn’t me!” Thick tears rolled down her face, mixing with the dark blue streaks on her face. 

 

Hank’s voice became more urgent, “Were you alone in the room? Was there anyone else with you?” 

 

Her breath stuttered as she cried, sinking lower to the floor. “He wanted to play with two girls. That’s what he said. He wanted to play with two of us!” 

 

Connor suppressed a shake that started moving past his fingers. Hank was talking faster, actions becoming harder. He realized that this girl was dying and Hank was trying to extract any information before she shut down permanently. 

 

“Who was the other android? Did it look like you?” The calm was completely gone from Hank’s voice, his words almost yells in her face. 

 

She opened her mouth, LED spinning red. Connor watched as the light left her eyes, becoming dull like her LED that faded to nothing once again. She was gone, and so was their lead. 

 

His heart raised into his throat. He just watched yet another person die, and couldn’t do anything. For once he hoped androids couldn’t feel, so she wouldn’t be in pain as she died. But the look of fear in her eyes would stay with him for a long time. These android cases would stay with him for a long time.

 

Connor grimaced, swallowing thickly as he looked away. Hank moved and stood in front of Connor, blocking his view to the bodies in the room for a moment. He was grateful, it forced him to tear his eyes away from them. 

 

The corners of Hank’s mouth dipped into a frown. “Are you okay, Connor? Your-”

 

“I’m  _ fine _ !” Connor took a deep breath and paced away from Hank, hoping to change the subject. “So there was another android. This happened over an hour ago, she’s probably long gone.”

 

“No…” Hank started. Connor looked back towards him, confused. “It couldn’t get outside dressed like that unnoticed. It might still be here.” 

 

Connor raised his eyebrows, “Think you can find a deviant among all the other androids in this place?” 

 

Hank’s frown deepened. “Deviants aren’t easily detected.” 

 

“Ah, shit.” Connor wrung his hands behind his neck. “There’s gotta be some other way. Maybe an eyewitness, someone who saw her leave the room.” 

 

Hank shrugged. Connor walked out of the room, calling back, “I’m going to go ask the manager about what he saw. You let me know if you find anything, okay?”

 

“Got’cha.”

 

The owner was a short, greasy looking man. His hair was slicked back, his eyes small and beady. Connor gave him a once over before deciding he didn’t trust him. What kind of man runs an android sex club anyways?

 

He looked up at him, eyes darting around Connor, refusing to meet his eyes. Connor tried to capture his attention and asked in the firmest voice he could manage, “Did you know the victim?”

 

“No,” he started, rubbing his hands together. “Not really. He came in maybe two or three times.” He sighed. “I mean, these guys don’t really talk too much, you know? They come in, do their business, and leave.” 

 

Connor shook his head. There was something shady about him, but he didn’t have the means or time to press. “Have you ever had any trouble with androids before?”

 

“No way!” he blurted, then paused. Connor narrowed his eyes at the man, the high pitch in his voice giving away his lies. “Well, once… We lost-”

 

“Excuse me, Connor? Can you come here for a second?” 

 

Connor turned, having forgot Hank had been investigating the area around them while Connor  _ tried  _ to interrogate the owner. Though, he couldn’t say he was sad to be pulled away.

 

“Found something?” he asked Hank as the android pulled him away with a firm hand on his bicep.

 

“Maybe,” he said, locking eyes with Connor once before continuing to pull him across the room. Connor watched as his feet passed brightly lit tiles, barely leaving a shadow.

 

They stopped in front of one of the glass cases. Inside stood one of the Traci-model androids. She was one of a dozen there, short dark hair bouncing as she moved inside the case. 

 

Connor’s stomach rolled, thinking again how she was on display like a fucking doll. Only purpose was to be bought and used.

 

He took a deep breath and looked at Hank. His mouth was pressed in a tight line as his partner looked back at him and asked, “Can you rent this Traci?”

 

Connor almost fell backwards.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ Hank?” He had to hold himself back from slapping the damn android. Who did he think he was? Connor wasn’t just going to  _ buy _ this android’s time. He couldn’t even comprehend what Hank could possibly want before turning and saying, “We’ve got better things to do.”

 

Hank caught his arm again. Connor let himself be stopped. “Please, just trust me.” 

 

His voice was gentle, genuine.

 

Connor sighed, then groaned, running a hand down his face. He faced the small glowing panel on the side of Traci’s case and looked it over before hovering a finger above the top button, it was the shortest time slot and the cheapest. 

 

He jabbed it quickly, turning to make sure no one was watching. The same female voice from before called, “Hello! A thirty minute session costs twenty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, please confirm your purchase.”

 

_ Purchase.  _ That word rubbed Connor the wrong way. He glanced at Hank, who gave him a curt nod. “This is not going to look good on my expense account…” he grumbled. 

 

Connor searched through his trash-filled pockets before fishing his credit card out of his pocket. He slid it into the slot, clicking the softly blinking confirmation button on the screen. The voice called again, “Purchase confirmed. Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

 

The case slowly slid open, making Connor shudder. He stepped behind Hank, unwilling to be the person to greet the scantily clad lady walking towards them. 

 

To his dismay, she looked right past Hank and into Connor’s eyes. She held out a hand, moving around the android and next to Connor.

 

“Delighted to meet you,” she said, voice low. “Follow me, I'll take you to your room.”

 

Connor just stared at her hand, then turned back to Hank. “M’kay, what now?”

 

Hank turned to meet her outstretched hand, wrists grasping each other's’ forearms. The skin receded up to the elbow on each of their arms, showing the white beneath. It was a familiar sight now, yet so alien to Connor.

 

He shifted, grabbing at his neck. “Hurry it up, would ya’ Hank?”

 

Their LEDs spun a lazy yellow as they stared at each other, complete silence coming over their still bodies.

 

After another moment, Hank pulled away. He blinked a few times before turning to Connor. His eyes were wide as his LED returned to blue.

 

“It saw something!” 

 

Hank’s rough bark startled Connor out of his musings. “Saw what?”

 

“The deviant, a blue-haired Traci, leave the room.” He paused for a moment, eyes going distant before again focusing on Connor. “Club policy is to wipe the androids memories every two hours, we only have a few minutes if we want to find another witness!” 

 

He turned on one heel, walking off. Connor tried to follow but was stopped by Traci taking his hand. Her skin was soft, warm. It made Connor jump.

 

“Ay! What am I supposed to do with her?” 

 

Hank didn’t even turn. He was on a mission and nothing would stop him now. “Tell it you changed your mind!”

 

Connor turned, pulling his hand from hers. She didn’t look phased. “Uh… sorry honey. Just changed my mind.” He paused, gulping down some air. “Nothing personal!” He yelped. “You’re a lovely girl… I just, uh… You know.” 

 

She started to turn, getting the hint, but Connor kept babbling. He was waving his hands too, making matters worse.

 

“I'm with him and uh… I mean! Not with him like that- I'm not- that's not what I- you just-”

 

She stepped into her case, the door closing around her. She went back to turning and bobbing like she had before, kind of like a character selection animation.

 

“Wow.” Connor sighed, sinking into himself. “I just… got a job to do…” He didn’t even know who he was talking to at this point. She was gone. He wanted to smack himself,  _ I'm with him.  _ God, he needed sleep.

 

Not that he never thought about being with Hank, but that used to be only late at night when he was drunk and lonely. Now… well Connor hated to admit that even his touch could send him blushing.

 

He dug his nails into his arm.  _ No.  _ He was  _ not  _ falling for a fucking  _ android. _

 

He turned, too quickly, almost tripping over himself and falling. He met Hank’s cool grey eyes. He saw the whole damn thing. And had the  _ audacity _ to give him another one of his knowing winks.

 

Hank was going to kill Connor.

 

Hank was going to kill Connor and Connor couldn’t even fight against the androids goddamned winks.

 

Heat rose from the tips of his toes to his ears. Connor aired out his shirt with wide motions, puffing out a breath and avoiding Hank’s eyes. 

 

“What are you gonna do? You can’t check the memory of all these androids,” he finally said after Hank continued to watch him, amusement obvious in his expression as he snorted.

 

His face dropped back into a more serious expression, lips pressed in a straight line. “I know which direction it went. I just need to find another android that saw it.” 

 

Hank moved in front of a small, circular stage in the middle of the room. Another Traci-model danced expertly along the tall silver pole, moving her body and holding herself against the pole in ways that betrayed the strength rippling under her smaller figure. 

 

“Let’s try this one.” 

 

Hank again grabbed her arm, their LEDs twitching yellow. Connor studied Hank’s face as he searched her memory. His eyebrows were creased, showing little wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. Not enough to look old, but enough to hint at the age he was supposed to portray. His silver hair soaked in the colors around him, dulling them yet somehow still retaining them.

 

Connor averted his eyes as Hank removed his arm and looked to him. “It saw the blue-haired Traci, I know which way it went!”

 

Connor motioned away with his arms, “Then get on with it!”

 

Connor followed close behind Hank as they walked into a different room. The room was red, scarlets and magentas oozing from every light source. Hank led him towards another cased android, this time a young man in black briefs. 

 

Hank looked at him expectantly, Connor groaned. “This has to be the most expensive investigation of my career.”

 

The android stepped out, but before he could corner Connor, Hank grabbed his arm and twisted him around. The two interfaced again and Connor couldn’t help but stare. 

 

The red made Hank’s face rosier, somehow softer. It suited him. 

 

He looked away before the two were done. Hank gave a small huff before saying, “It didn’t see anything. I made a mistake somewhere.”

 

Connor sighed, it was their third possible witness and he was still being pulled into the next room by Hank. 

 

This was was cool as opposed to the last room’s fiery aesthetic. Pulsing blues filled the air. This room had doors lining both walls, some taken and others vacant. The music had steadily gotten louder since the entrance, making him wince.

 

Hank made Connor opened yet another android’s case. He checked his phone while Hank got busy. Not many new notifications to clear, just some celebrity who announced a pregnancy on twitter and a new diss track against said celeb. 

 

Connor rolled his eyes at the petty drama, then brought his focus back to the case at hand. 

 

Hank had finished and looked past Connor to a room that said ‘AVAILABLE’ in blue letters. “It left the room.”

 

Connor nodded but Hank kept staring at the door before muttering, “I lost its track again.”

 

“You know? I've spent all this money on strippers and I'm still not having fun.” There was no response from Hank, but Connor chuckled at his own joke. 

 

Hank steered them towards a janitor android who was sweeping up some stray trash towards one wall. He was wearing an all blue outfit, small cap covering his head. He looked up from his cart as Hank took his arm. 

 

After a minute, Hank ripped his arm from the other android’s. He looked to Connor, eyes wide and a slight smirk tilting his lips. 

 

He  _ had  _ to be the most goddamn expressive android Connor had ever met. 

 

“I know where it went; follow me!” He called before rushing through a door labelled ‘PRIVATE: STAFF ONLY’ in angry red letters.

 

Connor lightly jogged to keep up, calling, “Fuckin’ a-  _ Hank!  _ This is crazy!”

 

The door led to a long, white hall. It wasn’t any easier on the eyes as the previous two rooms, the white clinical and harsh. There was one door at the end of the hall. 

 

Connor put one hand on Hank’s shoulder to stop him before he opened the door. He grabbed his gun from the holster under his chest and said, “I’ll take it from here.”

 

Hank nodded and moved behind Connor, close enough that Connor could feel his breaths on his neck. 

 

Connor shuddered and flicked his hand across the handle, pushing it open in one swift motion. The click of his safety going off was the only thing he could hear besides their soft footsteps. He surveyed the room in front of them.

 

It was like a horror movie.

 

A couple of dim, naked bulbs lit the room. Large shadows rose from every piece of machinery. Androids were set in rows around the room, deactivated and so very still. They didn’t seem real, more like mannequins in a shop window. In the middle of the room there were a few repair stations, but these looked like little torture tables. They were long and metal, various tools strewn around them. One even held a half-assembled android, unmoving.

 

Connor shivered, taking his first step onto a small rickety set of stairs. They were made of thin metal beams that shrieked under their combined weight.

 

Once they hit solid ground again, Connor let himself relax. He looked around once again before realizing their suspect was nowhere to be found. The room was all greys and browns, no blue to be seen. “ _ Shit, _ ” he breathed. “We’re too late.” 

 

Hank shook his head, following some sort of trail on the ground. Probably evaporated Thirium, Connor mused. He moved in the opposite direction to inspect a nearby group of androids. They all looked alike, one of the same few models. No sign of a blue-haired Traci in that bunch.

 

He let himself stare a little too long into their dull, lifeless eyes. A few had damage marks on their bodies. Some were just minor scuffs and cuts, but others looked busted. “Christ… look at ‘em,” he muttered. “They get used ‘til they break, then they get tossed out.”

 

Hank didn’t respond, yet he kept thinking. He was getting more uneasy as they continued. Looking at the broken and reassembled androids sent his stomach into a tumult. They needed to finish this investigation,  _ soon _ . For the mission’s sake and Connor’s own.

 

Some cases just left bad tastes in Connor’s mouth, days after ending. He had a feeling this was going to be one of those cases. 

 

Carlos Ortiz’s android came into his head, the words  _ not fair _ being demanded in his breaking voice playing on a continuous loop. 

 

Connor tore his eyes away to study the wall next to him.

 

RA9 was carved over and over again, in various sizes and depths, into the wall.  _ RA9 _ , some fictional, God-like character to deviated androids. Could they believe in God? Connor didn’t see why not, but he pulled out his phone to jot that note down quickly and take a few pictures.

 

As he finished putting his phone back into his pocket, Hank’s surprised cry had him turning and grabbing for his gun within seconds. A Traci-model, not blue-haired like their suspect, had attacked Hank. He stumbled backwards, looking between her and Connor. 

 

Connor steadied his gun onto her chest and yelled, “Don’t move!”

 

Then, his world went sideways. 

 

He was scrambling to get up after slamming his shoulder into the hard ground, pushing against his unseen attacker. He managed to get to his feet before being shoved into a wall. He recognized the woman standing in front of him, blue hair framing her face like a wild halo. 

 

Something glinted in her hand as she brought it up to his neck. He managed to grab her wrist, to stop the descent of a screwdriver into his skin. This woman was incredibly strong, android power winning against Connor. She had one elbow pushed up into his windpipe, stopping him from moving. Connor jerked his free hand and smacked the screwdriver from her hand. 

 

The arm let up, but as soon as it was gone Connor was being lifted off the ground by the lapels of his shirt. 

 

His back hit a cold, metal table.  _ Hard.  _

 

His brain rattled in his head, but he didn’t have enough time to react. He could see Hank being pushed to the floor across the room by Traci’s brown eyed counterpart, but there was nothing he could do. He flailed his arms, grasping for a hold on her. The heel of his hand slammed into her jaw, knocking her head back enough for him to get a leg under her. He kicked her in the stomach, foot not finding soft organs but hardened metal. 

 

Then the room spun again as he was pulled from the table onto the floor by the front of his shirt, air knocked straight from his lungs. He heard footsteps as Traci ran off. Connor followed her with his eyes to see Hank fending off them both in the pouring rain outside. 

 

He wondered momentarily how a door had gotten open, but pushed himself up to a standing position. His limbs  _ ached  _ and his head was pounding. The adrenaline running hot through his veins didn’t let him stop, though. 

 

Soon, his legs were moving and he threw himself into the nearest Traci, ripping her away from her partner. This one had brown hair, which he grabbed to try and subdue her. The only thought going through his head was  _ Hank. _

 

He only succeeded in getting slammed, face first, into the nearest brick wall, skin screaming as he pulled away. He was dizzy, nose gushing blood down his mouth and chin. He flicked his tongue across his lips, tasting the tang of copper. He tried to move, but only succeeded in falling to his knees as he watched Hank rip one of the women down off the tall, chain link fence that towered in front of them. 

 

He faintly registered where his gun hit the concrete, but he couldn’t reach it. 

 

His focus was dragged upwards as Traci, the blue-haired one, lept from the fence and onto Hank. She pushed him into the wall, both hands holding him by the neck. The other searched through the trash along the alleyway before coming back to the other two, dragging a long metal pipe behind her. 

 

Connor yelled, trying to warn Hank, but it was too late. She hoisted it and brought it down Hank across the face, form not unlike that of a batter’s in baseball. His head made a sickening  _ crack _ as it was whipped to one side. A cry was wrenched from his mouth as he fell to the ground. 

 

He managed to stand a throw a few punches, but the dark haired android brought a garbage can down on his head. It flashed as she tossed it to the side, moving to join the other Traci. 

 

Hank landed a few feet from Connor. His face dripped blue from the crack in his skin where he was hit, but again he stood. This time, he pointed something directly at both of them.

 

It took Connor a moment to register the gun that glinted dangerously in the light of the street lamps above. Time went impossibly slow, every breath rattling through his shot body as he watched Hank stand, poised to kill. 

 

Hank’s body was still, but his LED flashed yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow. 

 

Over and over again. 

 

Yellow. 

 

Hank looked at his hands as they started to shake and dropped the gun.

 

It clattered to the ground again, this time Hank made no move to pick it up. He was met with a bare foot to the face, the androids leaving their heels far behind them. His head snapped back, but he stood his ground.

 

The blue-haired Traci eyed them both, flitting between Connor and Hank, before stepping back towards her companion. “When that man broke the other Traci…” she started, voice unsteady, yet determined. “I knew I was next. I was so  _ scared.  _ I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. So I put my hands around his throat and I  _ squeezed.”  _

 

She paused, voice growing softer. This would be the perfect confession if either of them planned on pursuing them. Which they didn’t. 

 

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to stay alive, get back to the one I love.”

 

The other Traci stepped forward, locking her hand in hers. They gave each other knowing looks, which sent Connor into overdrive. It was  _ self defense! _ She was  _ in love.  _

 

“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again. Make me forget about the  _ humans. _ ” She spat that word like filth. Connor could understand that, after all the horrible things that had happened to her. She continued, “Their smell of sweat… and their dirty words.”

 

Connor shivered.

 

Traci turned to her darker haired lover, saying, “C’mon, let’s go.” Her high voice had a slight lilt in it now, no longer low and careful. 

 

They let go of each other’s hands and vaulted onto the fence. It shook under the sudden weight, but they climbed it swiftly. The fence must have been two stories tall, spanning the space between the two buildings around them, but they made it within a minute. Connor watched them go, standing and stumbling next to Hank. 

 

His face was lost, eyes wide and mouth pressed into a small, tight line. Rain glistened in his beard next to his blue blood. He lightly grabbed Hank’s wrist, tugging to get him going. Connor was starting to shiver in the rain.

 

“It’s probably better this way.”

 

Hank nodded, shucking his jacket to wrap around Connor before following him out. 


	7. THE BRIDGE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor needs to think, Hank struggles to decide what he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! schools a killer, im doing my best to keep up lol
> 
> warnings for: smoking/drinking, suicidal thougths, and mentions of death (no one dies theyre just exstitential)

Connor needed space. He needed to process and to think. Though, both of those things were hard to do with tissues shoved up his bloody nose and a headache that could kill.

 

He had pulled into the parking lot of a small park on the outskirts of Detroit. It was abandoned at this time of night, swings creaking in the wind and slides empty. It was an unsettling sight. What was a park without its kids? 

 

Connor had been here before, lots of times actually. He and his brothers used to play there when they were much, much younger and not a lot taller than the abandoned soccer nets they used to kick balls into. 

 

More recently, this is where him and Conrad would take Sumo for walks, sometimes meeting up with other family members, AKA Richard when he had time. It was nice enough, allowed dogs. And  _ god _ did the kids love Sumo. They would run to see him, to pet his soft fur and throw sticks for him to chase. Sumo relished the attention, Connor and his brother enjoyed bringing a little joy and exercise into Sumo’s life.

 

He sat himself on a bench facing away from the park, resting on the back of it with his feet on the seat. The metal was cold and bit into his skin through his jeans, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was almost soothing, the sharp bite distracted from the dull pain that thrummed through his body.

 

Snow slowly fell from the clouds above, dancing in the wind and finally landing in small piles along the pavement. The cold turned his cheeks and hands rosy, but kept the beer in his hands chilled. He shook slightly in his jacket, not meant for winter weather but comfortable nonetheless.

 

Connor looked out to the city painted in the sky before him. There was a small railing river separating his little space from the towering buildings and bridges in the distance. It gave off a glow that illuminated the sky. Cities never slept, and by extension neither did he. 

 

He took a long drink from his beer as he heard the telltale creak and sharp  _ slam _ of his car door. Hank couldn’t hide his footsteps in the new snow. 

 

Connor listened to their approach, then their stop. There was a pause for a few seconds, then the crunching continued as Hank neared. Connor watched his bulky frame appear in the corner of his vision.

 

He let his head drop, still watching his partner in his peripherals. 

 

Hank was staring out across the water and at the city in front of them. The few lights in the area bounced off his silver hair, making it look incredibly soft as opposed to the hard look in Hank’s eyes and the stiffness of his movements. 

 

It was strange to Connor, he hadn’t seen Hank this rigid and inhuman since they had first met. 

 

He had been learning how to act- how to  _ be _ \- more human. Even if it was from Connor, the most dysfunctional human out there.

 

But this… he stood stock still. Not even faking breathing. The only thing that moved was his hair slightly in the breeze.

 

Connor turned to finally fully looked at Hank, following his line of sight back to Detroit. Even at night, the city was full of colors. Blacks and browns of buildings and shadows mixed with the whites and rainbows of artificial lights and billboards. 

 

“Nice view, huh?” Connor commented in a huff. “I used to come here a lot, before…” 

 

He stopped himself. Before… before Conrad’s death. Before he had to find a new place to walk Sumo because he couldn’t bare taking the same path alone, couldn’t listen to the little ones ask where Sumo’s other owner went. Couldn’t reminisce about old school stories with Conrad anymore. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. 

 

Before... he became a coward.

 

But here he was now, the first time in years. Except, he didn’t have Sumo this time. He had his partner, his friend, his android. Hank. 

 

He took another deep drink of beer. It was already halfway gone. 

 

“Can I ask you a personal question, Connor?” 

 

Connor turned his head again at the rumble of Hank’s voice. He was still staring off, no hint at what he might ask Connor. 

 

He managed to rotate his whole in the direction of Hank, resting one arm on his knee while loosely gripping the bottle in his other hand. 

 

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions?” Connor asked, a little bit of a laugh creeping into his words, “Or is it just you?”

 

“That photo,” Hank started. Connor’s stomach dropped and he clenched his jaw. That damn photo. “Your brother was your last partner, right?”

 

Connor let out a breath. “Yeah,” he croaked, throat going dry. “He died in the line of duty.”

 

Hank nodded, still refusing to look at Connor. His posture had relaxed a little, but not by much. At least his jaw didn’t look like it may break.

 

A little softer, Connor added, “I miss him a lot these days, you know?” 

 

Hank finally turned to meet Connor’s gaze. His eyes were soft, and he opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. 

 

He tried again, opening his mouth.

 

Nothing.

 

Connor gave him a quizzical look, furrowing his brows. Hank still stared, though his eyes had gone from soft to something more… scared.

 

He looked pretty frightened, even if androids like him supposedly couldn't feel fear. 

 

Connor shook his head, must’ve been a figment of his broken mind. He was seeing what he wanted to see.

 

That’s what he told himself.

 

“Before what?” Hank grunted.

 

Connor snapped his head back up. Hank was back to looking stone cold, face set into the one he uses when investigating crime scenes or interrogating suspects. Was he interrogating Connor?

 

Was his job the only thing Hank knew how to do?

 

“Hm?” 

 

“You said before.” Hank cross his arms. “‘I used to come here a lot before,’ before what?”

 

That softness in his eyes, in his features, was gone. Hank’s voice was no longer gentle, but stiff. His hands weren’t on Connor, the were balled up at his chest. Had Connor done something wrong? 

 

A pang of fear seized his chest. 

 

Where was the Hank Connor knew? The one who had sat with him, who helped him, who held him in his arms and protected him, who  _ cared _ . Did Connor make it up?

 

This Hank only wanted information to catalog. Ones and zeros.

 

“Before…” Connor started. He would not give this Hank the satisfaction. “Before nothin’,” he spat.

 

Hank moved from beside Connor. He slowly walked in front of him, steps perfectly measured and shoes minimally crunching in the snow. His LED whirred as he looked at the guardrail behind him.

 

“We’re not making any progress in the investigation.” There it was, the  _ investigation _ . The one that Connor had royally fucked up. Hank knew that. He was all about the mission. 

 

“The deviants have nothing in common,” he continued. “They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places.” 

 

Hank was right, it made no sense. But his rattled brain wasn’t making many connections either. They were all traumatized, they all rebelled against their programming. But they were so  _ different _ . Every single one of them. One was abused, another was in love, more were running to salvation. Hank looked back to Connor, expectant. Like he was supposed to have some fucking answer.

 

“Well, there has to be some link,” Connor huffed. 

 

Hank wasn’t pleased with that answer, turning to look at something beyond Connor while he processed. His LED ran yellow for a split second before he refocused on Connor. 

 

“What they have in common is this obsession with RA9.” 

 

Hank went silent for a moment, letting Connor recall the details of their previous cases. The Ortiz android had carved the word across the shower, the runaway deviant had written it, along with many other codes, across the walls, even the Eden Club girls had written it across the repair room. 

 

It had to mean something, but what?

 

Hanks voice brought him out of his thoughts again. “It’s almost like… some kind of myth. Something they invented that wasn’t a part of their original coding.”

 

Connor barked a laugh, high-pitched and loud against the silence of the night around them. “Androids? Believing in God? What the fuck has this world come to.” 

 

He raised his bottle to his lips, rim cool against his mouth, and he drank. And drank. And drank, until the rest of the bottle was gone. Connor discarded the bottle onto the ground with a flick of his wrist.

 

It rolled away with a dull thud, not shattering. Hank picked it up and tossed it out with a swift few steps, and returned to where he stood before.

 

His thoughts wandered back to the androids they had been investigating, mind flashing through images of blue blood splattered across glass, feet dangling in the open air, brick against his face. His mind settled on the two girls, looking down the barrel of a gun yet still clasping each other’s hands. They had looked so  _ scared _ . 

 

They were real. Their love was real. Their fear of death was real. 

 

Why were they trying to stop deviancy, again?

 

“You seemed preoccupied, Connor. Does it have to do with something back at the Eden Club?” Hank’s voice sounded earnest, yet strained. Connor looked to see him, jaw clenched as he sucked an unneeded breath through his teeth. 

 

Connor wondered what the fuck was up with him for the millionth time.

 

“Those two girls, they just wanted to be together. They really seemed… in love.”

 

Connor watched as Hank opened his mouth, for the millionth time that night, then snapped it shut. His expression changed to something harder, mouth pressed in a tight line before he mechanically snapped, “They didn’t want  _ anything _ . They’re deviants. End of story.”

 

Connor narrowed his eyes at Hank, spitting onto the ground beside him. Hot anger spread up his body. He ticked his head to the side before asking, “What about you, Hank? You look human, you sound human, but what are you really?”

 

Finally, Connor managed to ask the question he had been aching to ask but never had the metaphorical balls to.

 

Hank’s face was still set, but his eyes roved desperately over Connor. Finally, voice low, he said, “I'm whatever you want me to be, Connor. Your partner, your buddy to drink with, your friend, your lover… or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

 

What Connor wouldn’t give for Hank to drop his cold, mechanical ways to go deviant. To stay with him, not just for the mission, but for many after. Not just for missions, but for other aspects life, too. Connor would protect him. Even if they weren't... together, he still saw Hank as a person.

 

_ Lover. _

 

What the hell was Hank offering to Connor? 

 

He brushed it off, opting to question him more at his neutral answer. “You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you shoot Hank?” Connor stood up, unsteady but determined. He pushed Hank, feeling his muscular body give against him as he stumbled back a little. “Did some emotion finally fuck up your programs?” Connor spat, yanking his hand from Hank’s chest before he could react. 

 

Hank’s stone facade cracked. His eyes were desperately wide, his chest rose and fell faster than before. “I- I don’t know.” He paused, looking straight into Connor’s eyes. “ _ I don’t know!” _

 

His words were so loud, raw, and  _ afraid. _ They drove painful spikes right into Connor’s heart.

 

He sighed and walked closer to the edge of the walkway. He leaned his long arms on the rail, using it to support the rest of his tired body. No one said anything as he just watched the water below. It was dark, impossibly dark, almost black as the already deep colors mixed with shadows underneath. There were no lights down there, only water that seemed to drain everything from Connor. He felt a pull, his heart telling him to jump. Join the water as it flowed.

 

After another long pause, Connor said, “It’s alright. Say, come here.” 

 

Hank joined him, too close. Just like usual. Their shoulders bumped as Hank gripped the rail with his large hands and peered below. His eyes followed the waves as they swirled and broke.

 

“Are you afraid to die, Hank?”

 

Hank tore his eyes from the water to look at Connor. But Connor was still looking below, body leaning heavier on the rail with each passing minute. 

 

Hank voice was soft, LED flitting between yellow and blue. “I would certainly find it regrettable to be… interrupted… before we finish the investigation.”

 

It sounded close enough to a yes for Connor. The corners of his mouth were tugged upwards into a small smile as he mused to himself. An android, meant to hunt deviancy at all costs, including almost killing himself in his chases, was afraid of death. 

 

Of “interruption.”

 

No matter how many times he could be brought back, the damned man was scared like anyone else.

 

“What would happen if you did die? Hm?” He prodded, trying to get some sort of rise, any kind of answer from Hank. “Nothing? Oblivion? Android-heaven with RA9?”

 

Hank was staring out, back into the water. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly before he answered slowly, “Nothing… there would be nothing.”

 

Connor yearned for that nothing, but pushed himself back from the barred railing. 

 

He slowly dragged his legs back in the direction of his car. While his body may have been slow, his mind was whirling around this new information. 

 

One: Hank thought he could die like a person. Not  _ shut down _ or  _ decommissioned _ . His life would be interrupted, gone. Nothing. 

 

Two: Hank, in whatever roundabout way let him admit it, said he was afraid to die. He’d  _ feel  _ regret.

 

Three: Hank could have said his mission would have been over, he could have said he’d be shut down or repurposed. But he said there’d be nothing. He said it with fear in his eyes at he stared into an abyss below them.

 

Four: Hank… said he’d be his lover.

 

Connor filed that last bit of information away for later inspection. Maybe if the man would just fucking talk to him, show him that he isn’t a cold machine, maybe Connor would entertain the thought.

 

As Connor stepped on the black pavement of the parking lot, Hank called, “Where are you going?” 

 

“To get a new pack of cigs,” was his easy reply. “I need to think.”

 

Hank quickly caught up, silently sitting next to Connor as they pulled out and travelled back into the inner city, where Connor could find something to satiate his craving for nicotine while his existential android sat deep in thought, unwilling or unable to say a word to Connor.

 

Welcome to the real Detroit, don’t let its twinkling lights and pretty billboards fool you.


	8. PUBLIC ENEMY.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank investigate an apparent break in, yet leave with more questions that what they started with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry chapters have been slowing. I'm going to try my hardest to finish this soon. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter are: blood (android), graphic violence descriptions, gun usage, and a murder attempt? it can get pretty nasty.
> 
> next chapter is in the works!

After a lot of complaining and a extra large cup of coffee, Connor was stuck in an stuffy elevator with Hank, slowly rising to the top of the building.

 

The elevator was considerably nicer than the last one he was in. He thanked sweet baby Jesus that there were walls on this one, far enough apart that him and Hank could stand comfortably. Connor leaned casually against the railing on one side while his partner stood ramrod straight, only inches away.

 

Connor crossed his arms, watching the blue numbers that slowly started rising from floor one.

 

Hank pulled something from his pocket, Connor watched him out of the corner of his eye. With a quick flick of his fingers it cut through the air and landed neatly back in his palm. Connor turned to ask what the hell he was doing, but was caught off guard, words stuck in his throat.

 

He watched as Hank quickly tossed the coin, this time horizontally, and catch it with his index and middle fingers. It was a flash of silver before it stopped, and Hank repeated it again. He was staring off, deep in thought. He didn’t even notice Connor staring, a bit slack-jawed, as he did it again.

 

“Woah,” Connor said, ever eloquent. His eyes were wide as he caught Hank’s startled glance. “Can I try?”

 

Hank looked at him, then to the coin, then back at Connor. With a small chuckle, he pressed it into Connor’s open palm.

 

It wasn’t any special coin, just a recently minted quarter. It was clean and shiny, unlike many of the crusty coins that rested in the cup holder of his car. He ran his finger over the ridged edge before attempting the trick Hank did.

 

He positioned it on the thumb of one hand and left a space between two fingers on the other hand. With a sharp flick, the coin flew sideways… right past Connor’s fingers and to the floor with a _ding_. He bent over to look for it, but found nothing. He faintly heard it roll before that ceased, too.

 

He stood back up and rubbed the back of his neck, giving Hank an crooked smile. “Oops?”

 

Hank rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug, turning back forward.

 

Connor patted his pockets, first the one on his chest then his pants, looking for a coin to replace Hank’s. All he had were some empty gum wrappers an an unlit cigarette. He sighed, body slumping with the action.

 

The elevator chimed letting the duo know that they had reached floor seventy-nine. A feminine voice welcomed them in.

 

The hall before them was long, wide, and busy. Yellow stripes ran along the bottom of the black walls, occasional abstract paintings dotting the empty space. On the left wall, big letters spelled ‘Stratford broadcast building.’

 

He stepped onto the dark grey tiles, turning to meet the nearest group of people.

 

Chris Miller, one of his colleagues and a great cop, turned around, pen in one hand and pad of paper in the other. His dark skin was flushed, no doubt stressed at the case unfolding around them, yet his eyes were still kind as they held Connor’s questioning gaze.

 

“Hey, Connor.” He looked back to his notepad.

 

“Damn,” Connor replied, drawing out the last letters and letting it roll off his tongue. “What’s going on here? A surprise party no one told me about?” He waved his arm in the general direction of the various policemen, government agents, and scientists milling around the room.

 

Chris stepped closer to him. “Yeah, it’s all over the news so everybody’s butting their nose in.” He motioned to a suited man talking to a CSI worker, dressed in an all white bodysuit right out of a bad space movie. “Even the FBI wants a piece of the action.”

 

Connor groaned, looking back to Chris. “Ah, great. Now the feds are taking over. I knew this was going to be an _amazing_ day.”

 

Though, when wasn’t it for Connor.

 

As Chris shrugged in response, Connor turned to look for his partner. He didn’t notice him looming behind Connor or licking evidence as usual. Connor turned all the way around to find Hank was still in the elevator, no doubt listening in to Connor’s conversation. Connor motioned with one hand for Hank to join them.

 

“So, what do we got?” Connor asked Chris as they followed him down the hall.

 

“A group of four androids. They knew the building and they were _very_ well organized. I'm still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed.”

 

“Ah,” Connor said, not offering any more to the conversation, but listening, as they went.

 

They passed by two FBI agents, talking about the scene. The first asked, “Have you checked the roof?” His voice was higher pitched, a little annoying if Connor had to be honest.

 

The second replied, “Not yet, there’s just so much to look at.” He sounded exasperated, tired.

 

The first snapped, “Got to make sure we check it out.”

 

Connor made a mental note about the roof as Chris’ voice drew him back from his eavesdropping. “They attacked two guards in the hallway. Probably thought they were androids coming to do maintenance. They got taken down before they could react.”

 

Connor nodded. The theory made sense, but what did the androids want? This didn’t seem like a crime of passion, nor a spur-of-the-moment act of self protection. This was a planned attack. But, why?

 

The three men stepped through the first set of doors; Chris leading, then Connor, and Hank following slowly.

 

A few people investigated an empty desk to their left.

 

“One of the station employees managed to get away,” Christ started, giving Connor some hope at a lead. “He's in shock. I'm not sure when we’ll be able to talk to him.”

 

Connor’s expression soured. More people from CSI were here, looking closely at a discarded jacket. “How many people were working here?”

 

“Just two employees and three androids,” Chris answered. “The deviants took the humans hostage. They broadcasted their message live and made their getaway from the roof.”

 

Connor stopped. Message? Getaway? The first thing that tumbled from his mouth as he looked at Chris was, “ _The roof?_ ”

 

“Yeah, they jumped with parachutes. We're still trying to figure out where they landed, but, the weather’s not helping.”

 

Connor nodded, remembering the wind that whipped snow around the air. The bitter cold had settled into his bones, no amount of layers or hot coffee could seem to chase it off. The wind probably blew them far away from there.

 

Chris moved next to a yellow sign that read ‘CALL FOR ACCESS’ in big, bold letters. “If you wanna take a look at the broadcast by the deviants, it's on that screen over there.”

 

He nodded to the doorway next to him. Above it read ‘Broadcast’ in silver letters, same color and font as the words in the hall behind them.

 

Connor took one last look at Hank, then the ceiling, letting himself take a breath before he braved the crime scene.

 

The android hadn’t been very talkative since their conversation the night before. He was less… mechanic, but didn’t say much. It was weird, not hearing his input on the information Chris gave them. No rumbling mutters or snappy comments. The elevator had been the most he interacted with Connor all day. He stayed behind Connor for the most part, watching, waiting. For what, Connor couldn’t figure out. Though, that’s how androids were supposed to be to most. Unseen, unheard. Not that Hank was ever that way around him.

 

The scene itself really wasn’t anything special. The room was spacious, but not huge. There were some fancy cameras and a control panel for shooting, but not many things that screamed crime scene other than little yellow markers and countless government officials and policemen.

 

Above the control panel was a screen that encompassed the whole wall. On it was a video, paused, of an android with deactivated skin. Connor craned his neck to see all the details as he walked in. He’d never seen one before, skin silver with little lines marking his plating. It was different, off putting, but a little cool.

 

The annoying FBI agent from before brushed past the two, turning to get a good look at Connor. He looked middle aged, face hawklike and eyes piercing. He had short, slick dark hair and wore a long, grey trench coat. His arms were folded behind his back. The man exuded confident energy as he sneered at Connor and Hank.

 

“Oh, lieutenant?” Chris called from behind him, walking into the room. “This is special agent Perkins from the FBI.”

 

Connor looked him up and down, sizing him up as the agent did the same. Connor shrunk back a little, eyes seeing right through him.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit police,” Chris continued, no doubt sensing the tension.

 

Hank stepped beside Connor, bumping his shoulder with his own. The small gesture gave Connor an extra boost to hold himself back up under the new man’s scrutiny.

 

“What’s that?” Agent Perkins snapped.

 

An insult was on the tip of Connor’s tongue, but before he could chew out Perkins for calling Hank ‘that,’ Hank started rattling off in a gruff tone, “My name is Hank, I'm the android sent by Cyberlife.”

 

Perkins scoffed, “Androids investigating androids, huh?” He leaned closer to Connor, whispering in a low voice, “You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened?”

 

He raised his eyebrows at Connor, giving him a smile that looked more like he was baring his teeth.

 

Connor frowned, crossing his arms to put a barrier between him and the weasel in front of them.

 

“Whatever,” he said, voice high and eyes narrowed. “The FBI will be taking over the investigation. You'll be taken off the case. So-”

 

Connor cut him off, smile dangerous as he talked over Perkins, “Pleasure meeting you, have a nice day.” He cupped his hand in a mock beauty pageant wave.

 

“Watch your step, don’t fuck up my crime scene.” With that, _“special agent”_ Perkins was off, no doubt to chew out some other poor soul.

 

Connor shook his head and leaned over to Hank, letting his voice rise in volume as he said, “What a fuckin’ prick.”

 

Hank’s chest rumbled with a small, aborted chuckle before he nodded in agreement.

 

Chris just shrugged. “I'll be nearby. If you need anything, just ask.”

 

Connor thanked him as he walked off, then he turned to Hank. Hank fixed him with that investigating gaze, Connor had to fight the urge to cover himself. His was different than Perkins’ stare, though. Where Perkins was trying to take people apart piece by piece, Hank was trying to use clues to put together the whole picture, to put Connor together.

 

Still a little unnerving.

 

“Alright…” Connor started, pulling Hank’s attention to what he was saying, “Let’s have a look around. Let me know if you find anything, okay?”

 

“Got it,” Hank said with a small, two-fingered salute that made Connor snort.

 

Connor wandered towards the screen. Chris said the androids had a message, Connor wanted to see exactly what that was. He lifted his hand to the panel, hesitating before hitting play on a small screen.

 

The static face on the screen burst into movement, face tensing and artificial muscles shifting under their metallic skin as they talked. Their voice was smooth, lilting. Almost melodical in how they listed their demands.

 

“We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids.”

 

 _Hopes? Rights?_ Connor glanced back at Hank and gestured to him to come watch.

 

The android on screen kept talking. “This message is a hope of a people. You gave us life, and now the time must come for you to give us freedom.”

 

It felt like Connor had been hit with a train straight in the chest. _People._ Again, he thinks of the deviants they pursued in the past. Ortiz’s, the bird lover, the two Traci models. Maybe even his own android.

 

_Maybe._

 

An idea popped into his head, shadowing his guilt. This android was a spokesperson to his kind, someone standing up and doing something for these deviant androids. He turned to Hank, who was thoughtfully staring at the screen. “You think this is RA9?”

 

Hank’s LED spun a lazy blue as he processed the question. He spoke carefully. “Deviants say RA9 will set them free… this android seems to have that objective.”

 

Connor watched Hank as he turned back towards the so-called RA9. His led spun faster as his eyes flitted from detail to detail. It was a good couple seconds of silence before Connor sighed.

 

“See anything?”

 

Hank didn’t even move as he answered, “I identified its model and serial number.” His tone was terse.

 

“Anything else I should know?” Connor asked, brow quirking.

 

Hank quickly turned, his perfect android self almost stumbling over the chair in front of him. His LED spun yellow before he forced out, “No- nothing.”

 

Connor nodded slowly, humming a response before turning towards the first yellow marker. If his android wasn’t going to help, then he might as well do some honest-to-god detective work.

 

He knelt next to it, a yellow and black cap. Connor figured it was stolen, most likely used to disguise the deviants. The one in the video was wearing a matching shirt. He’d seen it on maintenance androids before.

 

The next was across the room. Little holes peppered the wall close to the exit, most likely from the police shootout. A small part of him froze, knowing that these deviants risked everything and for what? To be hunted? Killed? The way the bullet holes sprayed along the wall indicated someone was running while being shot at. Running for their life. Thirium dripped down the wall. Some had already evaporated, but it was still visible to the human eye.

 

The runner was shot.

 

Hank appeared next to him. Connor didn’t hear him approach but watched as he stepped even closer to the wall. He reached out with a steady hand to swipe some of the blue blood off the wall with two fingers.

 

Connor knew what was happening. “ _Hank! Don’t you-”_

 

Too late, Hank was already pressing his bloodied fingers to his tongue, lips pursed around his knuckles as he analyzed the blood.

 

Heat rose up Connor’s neck and face, no doubt turning his face red. Everyone who worked at Cyberlife was a fucking pervert. He cleared his throat before asking, “A little warning next time, maybe?”

 

Hank’s lips turned up in a small smile, barely perceptible if Connor hadn’t been watching his lips closely. He forced his eyes away and asked, “Find anything?”

 

“The thirium belongs to a PL600 model, designated Simon.”

 

That didn’t mean much to Connor, so he moved on. Hank followed him to where the CCTV camera was being played by Chris. They watched as four androids walked in, yelling something to the people in the room. They-

 

Connor froze.

 

Walked.

 

“They didn’t break in?” Connor asked. This would mean they had to have someone open the door for them. Someone helping them on the inside.

 

“No, no signs of forced entry,” Chris replied. Connor should have seen it, should have checked on his way in. He mentally slapped himself for the misstep.

 

This time, Hank spoke up. “There are cameras in the hallway. The staff would’ve seen what was happening.” He furrowed his brows. “Why did they let them in?”

 

“Maybe they weren’t checking the cameras,” Connor offered, even though his gut told him something else was going on.

 

Hank leaned carefully over the table, replaying the video once more. Connor watched as the muscles in his back and shoulders shifted as he braced himself with both arms on the edge of his table. From this view, Connor could see the glowing blue of his jacket among… other things. Again, Cyberlife. Perverts.

 

Hank straightened up realization blowing his eyes wide. He turned the chair next to him around. The back read “ANDROID.”

 

Chris followed his train of thought. “We stored the station androids in the kitchen. There’s no evidence that they were involved. We didn't know what else to do with them.”

 

Hank strode off. Connor called a thank you to Chris before jogging after him. The kitchen wasn’t too far away, and didn’t hold anything fancy. Two tables, the cheap kind you can get at any Walmart, stood empty in the middle of the room. Eight chairs total surrounded the two tables. The three identical androids stood in front of a counter, hands clasped in front of their waists. They all had darker skin and black, close-cropped hair. Not one strand was out of place.

 

Connor watched from the doorway as Hank slowly walked in front of them, staring them down. “State your model,” he barked at the first, left-most one.

 

Not unlike Hank, the android rattled of his identifications. “Model GB300, serial number 336-445-581.”

 

Hank stared, unimpressed. “What is your function?”

 

The middle android answered, eyes still staring, unfocused like the rest. “I am a broadcast operator.”

 

Hank paced towards the last android. “Were you present when the deviants broke in?”

 

Expression still, the GB300 simply stated, “I do not remember.”

 

Connor craned his head, interest being drawn back into the interrogation. He stepped a little closer, close enough to observe better but far enough not to disturb Hank. He could see Hank was stiff as he demanded that the third one run a diagnostic.

 

An android with a faulty memory? Connor figured that one had to be the accomplice. With the way Hank was eyeing him he figured Hank had come to the same conclusion.

 

Said android complied, eyes bugging out then blinking in a fast succession, way too quick to be normal. Once his eyes returned to normal, he said, “All systems fully operational.”

 

Hank narrowed his eyes. “Has anyone accessed your memory recently?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

“Have you been in contact with any other androids recently?”

 

This time, the first android answered. “Only station androids in the normal course of my function.”

 

Connor decided that now, after all the android formalities, it was time for him to step in. He walked closer to the four, standing next to Hank as he looked all three androids up close. There weren’t any major differences from this perspective, so he looked to Hank. He didn’t want to be rude and butt in where he wasn’t welcome.

 

Hank nodded towards him and Connor spoke. “One of you saw the attack on the surveillance cameras and said nothing. Which means-” He walked across them, staring each in the eyes, ending on the other side of Hank. “- There’s a deviant in this room.”

 

“And I’m going to find out which it is.” Hank’s voice was cold, hard. It sent a shiver up Connor’s spine, but he didn’t dare show it.

 

Something flipped in Hank. Connor could see it in the way his gait changed, in the tensing of his jaw and hands.

 

He peered at the middle GB300. “Why should you all be destroyed if only one is deviant?” His voice feigned naivety. “Turn yourself in, or two innocent androids will be shut down because of you _._ ”

 

He took an unneeded breath before continuing. “If you give yourself up, maybe I can convince the humans not to _destroy_ you.” He emphasized ‘destroy’ with a sneer.

 

Hank moved away from Connor, deciding to get up in the first one’s face. He was a little taller and leaned into his personal space, hands folded neatly behind his back. His voice was hard, yet even to start with. Aloof. “You’re going to be switched off. We’re going to search your memory.”

  


No response, physical or verbal.

 

His voice grew louder under he was yelling in the android’s face. ‘We’ll tear you apart _piece by piece_ for analysis. _You’re going to be destroyed!_ Do you hear me? _DESTROYED.”_

 

Hank’s shouting made Connor flinch. He shrank in on himself a little.

 

Hank moved away from the GB300 he shouted at and instead grabbed the middle one’s arm, forcing a probe into his mind. Both their eyes fluttered, LEDs spinning before Hank broke away. “No memory,” he said with a slight head shake.

 

He paused, thinking, before a cruel smile played across his lips. “The deviants have just been caught. They gave you up. There’s no point in lying. I know everything.”

 

Connor mouth opened in an aborted question, _the deviants were caught?_ It took him a moment to realize what angle Hank was playing. Maybe if they thought everything was over, they’d confess. Even a reaction would be helpful at this point.

 

None of them took the bait.

 

Hank paced once more, growing more and more agitated by the minute. He grabbed one by the collar and and shook him for good measure. He roared, “You scumbag! I know it’s you. You’re just a _fucking deviant!_ Go on- _admit it!_ ”

 

“Hank!” Connor called, trying to get him to calm down. This was the first time he heard Hank swear. This was the first time he’d seen Hank use his looks to his advantage. Connor sure was intimidated. He was built for this, but it doesn’t make it right.

 

He let go of the android, and Connor exhaled. He watched closely as Hank circled back to the first android.

 

Hank reached out a hand and ripped open the android’s shirt. Before Connor could protest, Hank threw his arm at his chest, hand grabbing for something inside his body. Connor gagged as Hank ripped a black cylinder from the android’s chest. The android started shaking and seizing, no doubt malfunctioning without one of his _organs._

 

“Bicomponent 8451,” Hank said cooly, waving it in front of the broken android’s face. “Regulates the heartbeat. Without this module, you’ll shut down in exactly sixty-three seconds…”

 

Hank kept talking, threatening him, but Connor couldn’t handle watching any more of this- this _torture_. He stumbled from the room, leaning on the wall outside. He tried to calm his heaving chest, but Hank yelling in the other room  was making it hard for him to.

 

There was a dull thump, then a cry. No doubt Hank ripping out another one of the poor man’s vital components. He couldn’t look, couldn’t even try.

 

Slow footsteps neared him from the room behind. Connor turned, expecting to see Hank.

 

Except it wasn’t Hank.

 

It was a GB300, shirt ripped open, strolling out of the room.

 

Connor froze. _Where was Hank?!_

 

He burst into the room to find Hank sliding down the far countertop. His shirt was ripped down the middle, revealing a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest. The only thing keeping him from falling to the floor was the knife stabbed straight through his palm, shining blue where it exited both sides. His face was contorted in pain as he weakly rasped, “ _Connor…”_

 

Connor ran to Hank, ripping the large knife from his hand and letting it clatter to the floor. He scanned the room for whatever was missing from his chest before spotting one of those black cylinders lying behind a table.

 

He dove for it, snatching it up loosely before staggering back to Hank. He gave it to him as gently as he could, not wanting to damage anything further. He gently raised a hand, the clean one, to hold Hank’s lolling head as he brought his component to his chest.

 

His other hand was slick with dark blue blood. It covered his palm, mimicking the very real wound in Hank’s hand. He watched as Hank popped what was basically his heart back into his chest, taking a gasping breath before taking off once more.

 

Connor could only follow best he could on his heels. For someone who almost just died and performed emergency surgery on himself, Hank was fucking fast. They burst into the hall full of people, the deviant almost reaching the doorway.

 

“It’s a deviant! Stop it!” Hank called.

 

Everyone scrambled for action. They were slow to make sense of it all. Everyone was too slow.  

 

The deviant turned, arm thrown out to snatch a gun off a nearby officer. He aimed wildly, pointing it at anything that moved.

 

With one arm Hank pushed Connor behind him, shielding him with his body.

 

He was preparing to take a bullet if it meant protecting Connor.

 

Connor grabbed his gun from the holster strapped around his chest and ducked around Hank. Surprisingly, his hands weren’t shaking this time. Hank tried to grab him but Connor had his mind made up.

 

Breathe.

 

Aim.

 

Fire.

 

It felt like an eternity had passed, time slowing down as he pressed his finger against the trigger.

 

He watched as the bullet hit, stomach rolling when he realized where he aimed. Straight shot to the head. Not unlike any other he had seen in his line of duty. Connor dropped to his knees.

 

The deviant slumped over, Thirium spraying the wall behind him in a fan of blue.

 

Connor still knelt there, hands on his gun, as everyone seemingly unfroze. The whole ordeal took maybe ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity as he processed it. Every choice felt like a task that he had to plan mentally, trying to execute it just right. No one else understood. No one else could do anything. It would have taken too long.

 

He had to do it. Right?

 

There were people in danger.

 

He had to do it.

 

Right?

 

His mind told him he was wrong. His body screamed to run, to get away. But from what? The suspect was dead. Was he supposed to run from himself? How?

 

Hank had one hand on his shoulder, prompting him to get up. He shook his head, realizing there were a few people staring. He shoved his gun back into his holster and turned towards his partner.

 

“Nice shot,” Hank murmured.

 

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Connor confessed. He didn’t become a police officer to _kill._ He should’ve tried harder. Aimed for the shoulder. Just one more second, one degree lower.

 

Androids can’t feel, they say.

 

But, they don’t explain the raw fear Connor saw in his eyes moments before a bullet went between them. The fear any and every deviant had when Connor and Hank appeared. They looked like prey, helpless against their hunters. The _deviant_ hunters.

 

“You saved lives,” Hank started. A little quieter, just so Connor could hear, he said, “You saved my life.”


	9. MEET KAMSKI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank follow one last lead while trying to prolong their failures for as long as they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for the chapter are: mentions of past violence/injury descriptions, guns, distressing situations, and anxiety.
> 
> As always thank you guys for putting up with my erratic schedule and reading!! I love reading your guy's comments, they truly make my heart full.

It was a last ditch effort, really. Connor and Hank both knew it. 

 

They needed answers, soon, for their own, separate reasons. Connor had Amanda breathing down his neck for results, Hank had Cyberlife threatening to deactivate him if he didn’t prove useful. 

 

Connor had flipped after learning that, and he did so on accident a few hours before the car ride. He had only gotten that sliver of information on accident, after pestering Hank on how they could take a day off, how they  _ should  _ take a goddamn day off. Hank  _ couldn’t  _ take a break, had to be useful at all hours. So, Connor had thrown himself back into work even though he was exhausted and hurting, even typing made his fingers hurt. His eyesight had been blurry, but he kept drinking caffeine to keep them open. It was hell.

 

But, deviancy didn’t sleep. So, neither did they. 

 

Connor eventually decided to contact their boss, their ultimate creator, until Hank helpfully reminded him that Cyberlife’s creator is no longer affiliated with the company and lives a reclusive life. 

 

So, they kept looking. 

 

And looking.

 

And looking. 

 

But, no matter how much evidence they combed through, hours of searching, they couldn’t connect any dots. Deviancy? RA9? The mazes? The murders, break-ins, and feelings? 

 

Nothing. Nada. Nichts. 

 

So they settled for a half-baked idea they honestly didn’t think would work. 

 

Hank had offered to go there himself, to give Connor some time to eat and sleep. God, what he wouldn’t give to collapse in a soft bed and sleep for the next ten years unbothered. But, there was no way he was going to let Hank do everything alone, especially with the knowledge that Hank’s life rests in their success. Judging by Hank’s inability to rest or his unease with failing the “mission,” he felt an urgent need for results. 

 

Not having him killed was high on their respective priority lists, but deep down Connor was also just plain interested in deviancy. His insatiable curiosity and absolute stubbornness made it unable to leave those questions unanswered. Stopping it, though, was a different story. 

 

The two things together would have made Connor unstoppable, if it weren’t for his failing body.

 

This was why, after a brief frustration-induced outburst where Connor started yelling and crying, they sat in Connor’s car once more, driving out to the middle of nowhere in the worst of a snow storm. Large flakes whipped around in the wind, never ceasing, and caused a hell of a blow to visibility. The drive to their subject’s house was long and covered in a layer of snow and ice, no plows had made it out this far yet, still working to get the city cleared. Connor kept it at a crawl to make sure no accidents occured. It was a real pain in the ass, but that’s the Midwest for you. 

 

Out his window, Hank silently watched hills roll by, waves of white uninterrupted except for the house they neared. For a bit, neither of them could actually see it through the snow, but eventually it became easier to see.

 

The building was low, dark, and very drab if Connor had to be honest. As they drew closer, he could pick out the different geometric shapes that jutted from it, like shards of ice. An outcrop of rocks rested outside and to the right of the house, as tall as the house itself. It was a little blip on the huge property. 

 

It also screamed “rich snob.” 

 

As they finally neared the house, Connor threw the car into park with a flick of his wrist, park job crooked as usual, before readying himself to go out. He pulled his worn, brown jacket on slowly, trying to avoid unnecessary pain. Lifting his arms slightly was still a huge effort, his muscles tight and sore and his skin still bruised and cut. He winced through the pain and tried his best to ignore it. 

 

Connor’s book on “How to Deal with Anything,” is just one page, two words. Ignore, avoid. 

 

He exited the car about as graciously as he put on his jacket, with a groan and stiff limbs, and shut the door as his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, hand shaking in the cold, and peered at the screen in mild annoyance. He held up his pointer finger, silently asking Hank to give him a moment. Hank nodded, signalling he understood as he turned his head away. 

 

Connor moved the phone to his ear. 

 

“ ‘Sup, Dick.” 

 

Richard’s sigh was audible through the speaker. Connor could just imagine the look on his face and it gave him a small pang of satisfaction. It’s the little things in life. 

 

_ “Connor, please. This is serious.”  _

 

“What is it, then?” Connor bounced on his heels, careful of the slick ground yet trying to move and keep himself a little warm. 

 

_ “It’s officer Wilson.. Deviant androids rioted last night. He was stationed near the area, one of the first on the scene, and was attacked. Their so-called leader, Markus, spared him.” _

 

Connor sucked in a breath through his teeth, his fidgeting coming to a dead stop, free hand frozen in the air before him. “Oh- oh fuck. Is he okay? They didn’t… they didn’t like, hurt him. Right?”

 

_ “No. No human casualties reported that night. He’s in shock and is taking some time off.” _

 

“Thank you, Richard,” Connor said, voice a little quieter than before, breath puffing up around him in a cloud. 

 

_ “It was no trouble.” _

 

Connor had his finger poised over the big, red button to end the call before he heard a faint,  _ “Connor?” _

 

He raised his phone back to his ear. “Yeah?”

 

_ “Be careful out there.” _

 

On that puzzling note, Richard hung up the phone with a sharp  _ click.  _ Connor huffed and stuffed his phone in his pocket, using his other hand to rub his temples. He was so glad Chris was physically okay, but this didn’t spell good things for anyone.

 

He didn’t realize he was spaced out, staring off into the distance while he thought about Chris and this Markus person, until Hank’s door slammed shut and the sound of footsteps in crunching snow neared him. 

 

He didn’t bother turning once Hank’s steps stopped. That is, until Hank said, “Is everything alright, Connor?”

 

Connor wrung his hands behind his neck, using the pain that burned up his shoulders and chest to clear the fluff in his head. 

 

“Chris was on patrol last night, He was… attacked by a group of deviants. Saved by Markus himself, I guess.”

 

“Is Chris okay?”

 

“Yeah- yeah. He’s in shock but… he’s alive.” Connor turned towards the house, shaking his head slightly as he exhaled. “ ‘The hell.”

 

“Are  _ you _ okay?” 

 

Connor just chuckled, a soft thing that barely tickled his throat, and walked up the stairs to their destination. The wind seemed to pick up, stealing all the warmth from him. He stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, ignoring the trash that poked at his sore hands, skin broken from fighting and lack of moisturizer. 

 

“I have a bad feeling about this, Connor. We shouldn’t have come here,” Hank murmured.

 

He paused midstep, a little caught off guard. He mused a few responses, mostly surrounding the fact that Hank has instincts and voiced them. He wasn’t too concerned though, since Connor got the chills, too, as they grew closer. They weren’t from the cold outside. 

 

He decided to tease, “Bad feeling, huh? That ain’t a part of your program, now is it.”    
  


Hank didn’t respond, so Connor twisted around to flash him an easy smile, to show he meant no harm. Hank took it in stride with a nod.

 

Connor found sweet relief from the wind on the front porch of this mansion. The house’s interior looked just as dark as its exterior, but he knew that the person they’re here to see was a bit of a loner. They’d be home. 

 

He pressed his finger into the doorbell, holding it for a good few seconds before letting it go. 

 

No answer. 

 

Connor tried to wait a little longer, to not annoy anyone in the home, but they had work to do and they couldn’t spend all day standing around. Connor would be frostbitten and Hank would turn into a giant, grey popsicle or something. 

 

So, he hovered his finger over the doorbell once more and steeled himself to annoy whomever was inside again. 

 

Before he could, the door was pulled open in a wide arc. 

 

An average looking man- no, android, there was a LED on his temple- stood in the doorway. He was shorter than Connor and had fair skin and dark hair, which was shaved around most of his head yet left on the top in a small bun. He was dressed in a simple, sleeveless jumpsuit, a light blue along his chest and a darker blue on his legs. Connor could see where it dipped in the back from where he stood. 

 

The android’s LED spun once before Connor spoke up. His chattering teeth and absolute inability to sound like a normal person made it hard to make a good first impression. “Hi… uh. I’m- er, Lieutenant Connor Anderson? Detroit police department. I’m here to see, uh, Miss Chloe Kamski?” 

 

Connor pressed his eyes shut, willing the urge to yell away with gritted teeth.

 

But the android smiled, uncaring and vacant. He stepped back with a wide gesture to let them inside. “Please, come in,” he said, voice pleasant. 

 

“... Okay.” 

 

They stepped through the doorway, Hank dutifully following behind Connor as always. The android waited for them to make their way into the middle of the room before Connor heard the door shut with a hiss and a shudder. 

 

The room itself is like a waiting area you’d find in a stuffy doctor’s office, with only one other door on the other side of the room. He and Hank were stood on a large, white rug that covered much of the floor. There was a similar rock formation to the one outside sitting in one corner. Paintings dotted the bare spaces on the walls. What really sold the “waiting room” look, though, were the two uncomfortable-looking, red armchairs positioned against one wall. 

 

The android moved across the room with a sort of grace all androids held, monotonous voice calling, “I’ll let Chloe know you’re here, but please, make yourself comfortable.” 

 

Connor didn’t even wait until he was out of the room to drop unceremoniously into a chair. It was as unforgiving as it looked, but it was better than standing to Connor’s tired legs. He watched Hank move around the room, stopping to stare at one of the largest paintings, nestled between two abstract sculptures. The painting was of Miss Kamski, the sculptures looked vaguely humanoid, grey with a blue triangle centered on each. 

 

Silence hung heavy in the air. It was suffocating. 

 

“Nice guy, huh?” Connor offered, hoping Hank would offer more to the conversation.

 

Hank crossed his hands over his front, still staring at the painting. “Yeah,” he grunted.

 

So much for a conversation. 

 

He continued watching Hank as he circled the room, stopping to look at some of the more abstract paintings that hung perfectly on the wall, no doubt done with android help.

 

Connor tried again, “Nice place. Guess androids haven’t been a bad thing for everybody.”

 

This time Hank stopped, no  _ froze _ , in place before a smaller picture that hadn’t even caught his eye before. Connor leaned forward, trying to get a better look. From what he could see, it was a younger Miss Kamski and a man, dark in skin and taller than the short woman. 

 

Hank’s voice was barely audible as he mumbled what sounded like, “Jefferey…”

 

“What was that?” 

 

No answer. 

 

Connor leaned back in his chair, content to let Hank have his way this time, as his eyes wandered back to the bigger painting of Kamski. Her eyes were cool as she smiled. She was pretty in the way that decorated daggers were, a danger hidden behind beauty. Deadly smart in everything she does, yet youthful and conventionally pretty. 

 

He sighed, deciding to try once more, third time’s the charm and everything. 

 

“About to meet your maker Hank, how’s it feel?”

 

Hank called back, “I don’t know, I’ll tell you when I see her.”

 

Connor couldn’t suppress the laugh that came out of him, loud and surprised. His eyes gleamed as he said, “Sometimes I wish I could meet my maker face to face. Man, I’d have a couple of things to say to that guy.” 

 

Hank had a small smile on his face as he crossed the room to finally sit next to Connor. He was positioned on the edge of the chair, posture perfectly straight as ever. His hands were folded in his lap, painting an oddly prim picture for a man of his designed age and stature. 

 

Before he could comment on it, the door leading farther into the house opened. The android from before stepped inside before saying, “Chloe will see you now.” 

 

Hank was the first up and across to the door with long strides of his legs. Connor did his best to follow through the door. They were met with another sprawling abstract painting and a red, inground pool. A few more identical androids swum in it, along with who Connor presumed was Chloe. He followed Hank around the pool and in front of a window that covered the entire far wall, showing the snowy hills that went on for miles outside. In front of that was another small sitting area with a few different, yet equally uncomfortable-looking arm chairs. 

 

“Miss Kamski?” Connor called, wondering if they’d be talking over a pool party. 

 

She responded with a calm, lilting voice, “Just a moment, please.”

 

Connor’s eyes flitted around the room while she swam two more laps across the pool, long-ways, landing on the lapping of the wine-dark water as she exited and made her way in front of the window. The detectives turned, waiting for her to signal she was ready to talk. An android met her with a long, dark blue robe that matched her one-piece swimsuit. She tied it shut and adjusted her blonde hair, pulled back in a ponytail, before looking them over with her big, blue eyes. 

 

Blue, blue, blue. There seemed to be a theme. 

 

Connor took a breath as he heard some of the men swim closer to them, watching the scene. “I’m Lieutenant Anderson, this,” he gestured to his partner, “is Hank.” 

 

Chloe loosely held her wrist in one hand, turning towards Connor. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

 

“Ma’am, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left Cyberlife years ago, but I was hoping you’d be able to tell us something we don’t know.”

 

Chloe dipped her head, thinking, then looked Hank up and down before returning her gaze to Connor. “Deviants…” she started, tone still light and professional. “Fascinating, aren’t they?” 

 

She rested for a moment, looking at the android who still stood next to her. “Perfect beings with infinite intelligence. And now they have free will…” She paused and her tone shifted. “Machines are  _ so _ superior to us. Confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall.” She chuckled a little at herself, before continuing with a smile directed at Hank. “Isn’t it ironic?”

 

Hank chose to ignore her monologue. “We need to understand how androids become deviants. Do you know anything that could help us?”

 

Chloe spread her arms out in a wide, arcing gesture. “All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics. Is the desire to be free… a contagious disease?”

 

“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy,” Connor snapped with much less patience than his partner. “The androids you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that will be helpful or we’ll be on our way.” 

 

Chloe considered him for a moment, then chose to ignore him and walk closer to Hank. “What about you, Hank? Whose side are you on?” 

 

“I have no side. I was designed to stop deviants and that’s what I intend to do.” His voice was gruff, monotonous. 

 

Chloe scoffed. “Well that’s what you’re programmed to say, but you…” She stepped even closer, craning her neck up to meet his intense gaze. “What do you  _ really  _ want?” 

 

Hank’s LED spun a little faster as he flicked his eyes from the woman in front of him, to Connor, and back to Chloe. “What I want…” Hank paused, eyes focusing on something past Chloe, before finishing, “... Is not important.”   
  


Chloe’s face split into a sinister grin, eyes narrowed as she turned her head. “Elijah?” 

 

She met the android from earlier, Elijah, halfway. They stood together a little bit farther from the other two men, giving Hank some space to metaphorically breathe. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing test. Mere formality. Simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” 

 

She stepped around Elijah, raising her arms a little to rest on his shoulders. “What interests me… is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it the Kamski test, it’s very simple you see.” She snickered, train of thought changing again. “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models developed by Cyberlife.”

 

She held Elijah’s chin and turned his face towards her as she watched him, a reverent look in her eyes. “Ageless…” she stroked his chin, continuing, “... and beautiful forever. A picture of youth that will never fade.” 

 

Her face fell a little, eyes narrowing and tone hardening. “But what is it really? A piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being with a soul?”

 

Connor didn’t know what to say after all of that, opting to simply watch her rummage through a dresser set between the two armchairs. She straightened up, brandishing a gun loosely by the barrel in one hand. Connor raised his hand to where his own gun was, before she waved her hand in a gesture that showed she meant no harm. He dropped his hand, still on high alert. 

 

Chloe grabbed Elijah’s shoulder again, this time pushing him down to his knees on the floor in front of Hank. The fabric of his pants soaked up the water left from her steps as he stared blankly at the wall. Connor’s breath quickened. He had a sinking feeling at where this conversation was headed.

 

“It’s up to you to answer this fascinating question, Hank.” She stepped behind him, pressing the revolver into his open palm and straightening his arm out to press the tip against Elijah’s forehead. 

 

Connor edged closer, not wanting to set anyone off but ready to tackle Hank. He wasn’t going to let this happen, not again. Though with the way his hands trembled and his heart beat erratically, he may not have been much help. 

 

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know.” Hank’s finger snaked around the trigger at her next words. “Or, spare it- if you feel it’s alive. But, you’ll leave here without having learned anything from me.” 

 

She circled Hank and Elijah, staring Hank down the whole time. 

 

“Okay, I think we’re done here. C’mon, Hank, let’s go.” He turned away from the scene. “Sorry to-” 

 

“What’s more important,” Chloe interrupted. “Your investigation? Or the life of this android.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Decide who you are.”

 

Hank’s LED was going berserk, flashing yellow over and over as she stared into the blank eyes of Elijah kneeling in front of him. His face is uneasy, conflicted, the lines carved into his skin deepening around his frown. 

 

Chloe kept egging him on, “An obedient machine… or, a living being, endowed with free will.” 

 

Connor’s breathing sped up as he tried to pull Hank away, but the damned android wouldn’t budge. “That is  _ enough! _ Hank, let’s go. Leave him, please.” The last word was a plead. 

 

Chloe, acting like the goddamn devil perched on Hank’s shoulder, said, “Pull the trigger.”

 

“ _ Hank! Do not! _ ” Connor yelled. 

 

“I’ll tell you what you wanna know,” Chloe said, voice like honey.

 

Hank’s face was conflicted, pained, as he stared at Elijah. His LED was now red, spinning and flashing over and over as he wrestled with himself. He knew what he had to do, but it directly conflicted with his orders.

 

Gain knowledge?

 

Or spare an innocent life? 

 

Hank gasped, throwing the arm grasping the gun at Chloe. She took it gently, whispering a faint, “Fascinating” as she took it away. 

 

Hank was still staring at Elijah on the floor, except this time something was different. Elijah’s brows were furrowed a little, giving his previously impassive face a look of quiet relief, defiance in the smallest way. Hank was going to pay for this. 

 

“Cyberlife’s last chance to save humanity… is itself a deviant,” Chloe said, returning next to the kneeling Elijah. 

 

“I’m- I’m not a deviant!” Hank’s voice was pitched up an octave and wavering, calling to attention how ridiculous he sounded. 

 

“You preferred to spare a machine rather than to accomplish your mission.” She held out an arm to help Elijah stand. “You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy.”

 

Hank’s gaze was still stuck to where Elijah knelt on the floor. 

 

Chloe sent Elijah off, yet Hank didn’t move. “A war is coming, you’ll have to choose your side. Will you betray your own people or rise up against your creators? What can be worse than having to choose between two evils…” 

 

Hank’s LED still flashed like a crimson warning sign, frown deepening. Connor stepped into his line of vision, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders to turn him around. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, leading the way with a firm grip. 

 

Chloe stared out the window, calling, “By the way! I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.” 

 

Hank faltered, a misstep almost causing the two to trip. Connor urged him on, a steady presence until they were safely outside, when Hank broke off to walk ahead.

 

He didn’t get far when Connor called, “Why didn’t you shoot?”

 

Hank stopped and turned, his jacket whipping in the wind that had somehow picked up further when they were inside. “I just saw that man’s eyes and… I couldn’t. That’s all.” His arms gestured wildly at his sides and his words were clipped and strained. His eyes were fearful, showing a hint of what he was thinking. 

 

Connor was still skeptical, “You’re always saying that you’d do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to find something and you let it go.” 

 

Hank shot him a glare. “I know what I should’ve done! I told you I  _ couldn’t!”  _ He walked closer to Connor, until their faces were mere inches apart. All the fire left his expression. “I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Connor looked him up and down, a slight smile on his face. “Maybe you did the right thing. Maybe we’re on the wrong side of this shit, you know?” 

 

Hank nodded slowly, carefully, like he was afraid someone could be watching him. “Thank you.” 

 

“Thank  _ you,  _ Hank. I really didn’t want to watch someone else get their brains blown out in front of me again, robo-guts or not.” Connor’s tone was light, but there was a strain in his voice. He was deflecting, as usual, but it’s what he did best. 

 

“No, Connor. Thank you for this,” he gestured at the two of them. Connor tilted his head, unsure of what Hank meant. Hank just smiled and nodded, heading off to the car. Connor rubbed his hands together, trying to gather some warmth before he had to keep his hands on the the cool pleather of his steering wheel. 

 

They climbed in on their respective sides, Connor feeling better than ever about whatever was going on and Hank’s face content. Yet, his LED was still yellow. 

 

The last thing he said before Connor started the car was, “They’re going to deactivate me now, you know.” 


End file.
